


If I Have Nothing To Lose, I Have Everything To Gain

by ConcernedReader



Series: The Ship Of Dreams [2]
Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: (They did too), And with history, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, How we wish Titanic ended, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Jack Dawson Lives, Jack's Thoughts, Kissing, Liberties Will Be Taken With Canon, Love, No Leos were hurt in the making of this fic, Nudity, POV Jack, POV Third Person, RMS Titanic, Romance, Sex, Stream of Consciousness, The Portrait, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcernedReader/pseuds/ConcernedReader
Summary: "I'm not an idiot," Jack said in a quieter voice. "I know how the world works. I've got ten bucks in my pocket, and I havenothingto offer you, and Iknowthat. I understand. But I'm too involved now," He explained softly. "You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowing you'll be alright,"The truth of his feelings is on his tongue. Jack wants to tell her so badly that it hurts, but the words won't come, now. She won’t listen to him if he tells her that he’s fallen, that he’s in love with her. As much as he wants to say it, as much as he’d like to kiss her, he can’t. Even if somewhere inside her Rose knows it’s the truth, she won’t let herself believe it. She’d say that they hadn’t known each other long enough for it to be real, that she loved her fiancé. Even if she never comes around, he needs to know that she won’t end up on another railing one day without anyone to pull her off. “That's all that I want," Jack says. It's the biggest lie he's ever told.(The things Jack thinks when he's onTitanicwith Rose)
Relationships: Jack Dawson/Rose DeWitt Bukater
Series: The Ship Of Dreams [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031535
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, Bitch.
> 
> Well, it's finally here after god knows how long of writing and editing. Turns out nothing motivates you to finish the fic you've been working on like wanting to start writing a different fic (which is not for Titanic) So, I speed-churned this out to get working on that as soon as possible. I hope you guys enjoy this, I know that you've all been looking forward to this very much. Thank you to everyone who read my last fic, everyone who gave kudos and bookmarked it, and especially those of you who have commented on it.
> 
> As to the series of one-shots I have in this verse, they're coming.
> 
> And as always, Jack Dawson makes it out of this one alive (although he's unconscious during it)

The first time he sees her, she takes his breath away.

Jack should’ve known he was a goner for her then. He wouldn’t call it love at first sight so much as an instant captivation that she seemed uniquely capable of holding over him, and  _ man,  _ the minute he sees her, she’s in his head and there to stay.

The woman walks with nymph-like grace to the balcony on the first class deck high above. She’s wearing a lacy white dress, with a red sash around her waist. Her hair is as red as the sash, kept piled atop her head. She’s elegant, beautiful, poised. But Jack can also see that she’s unhappy, plain as day.

When he stalls in answering Tommy’s question about if he makes money from his drawings, it makes the Irishman look in the same direction that Jack’s own eyes are pointed. He leant forward in his seat, keenly interested at her sudden appearance. Every motion the woman at the balcony makes is graceful, down to the she folded her hands on the railing.

Tommy looked back at him with a faint smile, having realized just as quickly what drew his attention. “Ah, forget it, boyo,” He shakes his head in sympathy. “You’d as like have angels fly out of your arse as get next to the likes of her,”

Jack wants to draw her.

Even just laying eyes on her for the first time, she’s interesting. Jack wants to know her story. He wants to know  _ her.  _ He’d like to be able to speak to her, and figure out the truth behind the melancholy on her face. He’d like to be close to her, rather than watching her from afar. It’s clear she’s a first class passenger, though, so the chance that happens any time soon is damn unlikely. But Jack’s never seen someone he’s so immediately wanted to put down on paper that he’s torn between actually trying to draw her before she moves, and continuing to watch her.

Really, he can’t seem to take his eyes off her.

The woman seems to feel his gaze on her. She glances downward once, surreptitious. Then she does it again a moment later, her gaze more weighted, and landing on him.

Fabrizio waves his hand in front of Jack’s face, laughing. Jack still doesn’t blink. Whoever she is, she’s captivating. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. All the words that come from this picture of her are racing through his mind, waiting to be put together. He can’t make himself look away, as long as she’s there.

A first class man approaches her from behind, catching her by the elbow. Her head turns to look at him, and it becomes clear that he’s the one she’s irritated with. Truth be told, neither of them look very happy. The pair have a brief, biting exchange, and his muse walks off again, gone just as quickly as she came.

* * *

The room was crowded, but it was a good sort of crowded-- cheery, and full of energy. It was exactly the sort of crowding that Jack liked to surround himself with-- sounds of music, and laughter, and happy people talking and singing and dancing. 

At the moment, he’s not very concerned with the crowd-- it’s only good background noise, and he’s playing with the sweet little girl called Cora, and teaching her to draw silly faces. Behind him, Fabrizio is getting to know a pretty blond Norwegian woman called Helga. They seem to be getting along well, for people who can’t even communicate properly.

“Very good,” Tommy says, looking from the drawing to Jack and back again as he sucks on the end of his cigarette. “Very, very good.” He’s churned out dozens of drawings of ship passengers already, and as a form of amusement, he’d passed several along to Tommy to see if he could spot the models in turn.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cora’s father and mother approaching out of the corner of his eyes. “Cora, we have to go now,” Her father says as he came along, throwing a gentle smile in their direction. "Say goodbye to Uncle Jack,”

Cora beams back at him as she hops out of his lap and takes her Father’s hand. “Bye, Uncle Jack,” She says in her small child’s voice, waving lightly at him. 

“Bye, Cora,” Jack smiles, waving back at her as she walks off with her parents. He’s always been good with kids, since as long as he’d been mature enough to watch them himself. Maybe they could just sense that he was friendly and good fun. Cora was sweet on him, but he didn’t mind. She was too young to really like boys, so humoring her at this point was entirely harmless.

All of a sudden, the room goes very quiet.

“Jack,” Fabrizio says, tapping a hand on his shoulder. He turns, and finds the cause of the silence-- what everyone is staring at. Or who, in this case.

It’s her.  _ Rose, _ he remembers. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, beautiful, so many more things than he can put words to. Down here, she’s ethereal in her loveliness, a goddess come down from the heavens to grace the mortals with her presence. And the entirety of third class was just as captivated by her as he was. But it wasn’t them that she’s down here for-- Jack knows she’s here for him. He’s the only one she knows with a steerage ticket. He stands.

“Hello, Mister Dawson,” Rose greets, the perfect image of propriety, except for the fact that she’s down here, with the steerage passengers.

“Hello again,” Jack says. She’s wearing a pale, sunny yellow dress, with her auburn curls coiffed at the back of her head-- so different from how he saw her last night, when her dress was red and her hair was down and wild, and tears stained her face. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget that image of her as long as he lives.

“May I speak with you?” Rose asks in a low voice, like she doesn’t want to draw attention to herself, though. It’s pointless, though. She draws his attention every time he sees her.

“Yeah,” He answers. He’d love to talk with her, inexplicably, love to know her better.

Rose’s eyes flit around the room. “In private,” She says.

So many eyes are staring at her, specifically Tommy, Fabrizio, and Helga. For the first time, Jack realizes just how many people are truly watching them-- almost everybody in the room. How often, after all, did someone from first class associate with the steerage passengers? It would have been impossible for them to have any privacy down here, when she draws everyone’s gaze. Jack smiles shyly. “Yes, of course. After you,” He says, as Rose turns. He takes his folder from Tommy and gives him a hard smack on the shoulder just for staring, but he can’t help but feel their amazed stares on his back as he leaves.

_ Ah, forget it, boyo, _ he remembers Tommy saying, in his lilting Irish accent.  _ You’d as like have angels fly out of your arse as get next to the likes of her. _

* * *

“Well, I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen, since my folks died. And I had no brothers or sisters or close kin in that part of the country, so I lit on out of there and I haven’t been back since. You could just call me a tumbleweed blowin’ in the wind,” Jack says with a laugh.

For the past hour or so, he and Rose have been walking along together on the promenade. He hadn’t expected it, but she’s wonderful company. However, being a girl who tried to throw herself off the back of a ship only last night, Jack expects that she’s got something else she wants to talk about; some real reason why she sought him out. They’ve been talking enough that he thinks by now, it’s alright to broach the subject. “Well, Rose. We’ve walked about a mile around this boat deck, and chewed over how great the weather’s been, and how I grew up.” Jack begins, hoping that he doesn’t scare her off when he brings it up, “But I reckon that’s not why you came to talk to me, is it?”

Rose’s expression grows troubled; her lips purse, and she worries her hands in her lap. “Mister Dawson, I--”

_ “Jack.” _ He tells her. He hated being called Mister Dawson, it was so formal, and…  _ Mister Dawson was my Father, _ Jack thinks. Even five years after it, his heart still pangs at the thought.

“Jack,” She agreed, looking especially shy. “I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for pulling me back, but for your discretion,” Rose says, turning her blue eyes to him.

“You’re welcome,” He answers. She didn’t have to thank him for saving her life-- anyone would have done it. Sure, he’d kept her secret. And even now, Jack wasn’t really sure why he had-- except for the fact that Rose had so clearly not wanted him to tell the others why she was on the railing. It was obvious that none of them even had a clue she’d been trying to kill herself. 

“Look, I know what you must be thinking,” Rose started, walking ahead of him. She shakes her head once; more like the motion is directed at herself than at him. “Poor little rich girl,” She says. “What does she know about misery?”

“No. No, that’s not what I was thinking,” Jack says.  _ Is that really what she thinks about herself?  _ He wonders, watching her fret.  _ That her pain is somehow less valuable because she’s not dirt poor?  _ “What I was thinking was, what could’ve happened to this girl to make her think she had no way out?” Whatever had her ready to jump last night was what mattered-- that and if it would happen again. Looking at Rose now, Jack would say there’s a good chance that it might.

Rose looks positively exhausted at his question. She doesn’t seem to know where to begin. “Well, I… it was  _ everything,” _ Rose answers, leaning back on the railing, her eyes looking somewhere far away rather than at him or any one particular thing. “It was my whole world, and all the people in it. And the inertia of my life… plunging ahead, and me… powerless to stop it.” She lifts her hand up to him, revealing a large diamond ring, sparkling in the sunlight.

“God,” He laughs, taking her hand to get a better look at it.  _ It’s like they pulled a star right out of the sky.  _ “Look at that thing! You would’ve gone straight to the bottom!”

What he’s said doesn’t do anything to soothe her. If anything, Rose looks more upset. “Five hundred invitations have gone out,” She confesses. “All of Philadelphia society will be there. And all the while, I feel I’m standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one even looks up.”

“Do you love him?” Jack asks. He’s never been in love with anyone himself, but… he’s seen it a plenty. He saw it in his parents. His father worked himself bone tired every day, trying to make a better life for the three of them, coming home to a house that was almost falling apart. Mom never complained about it, even though it wasn’t what she wanted for them, and worked twice as hard sometimes. He knows it wasn’t easy for them, but somehow, they always made it work. They always gave each other a kiss at the end of the day, and never went to bed angry.

“Pardon me?”

“Do you love him?” He reiterates. He remembers her fiancé from last night-- he’d looked like a Grade-A Asshole, a genuine slimeball. Somehow, he can’t imagine someone as brilliant as Rose being happy with a guy like him. She’s not, obviously, otherwise she wouldn’t have tried to kill herself. A marriage between wealthy upper class citizens--  _ It’s probably arranged,  _ He thinks. 

She frowns, the set of her face somewhere between being nervous and shy. Even with an expression like that, Jack still can’t help but find Rose unbearably pretty. “You’re being very rude,” Rose accuses him, sounding half playful as she speaks. “You shouldn’t be asking me this.”

“Well, it’s a simple question,” Jack shrugs. “Do you love the guy or not?” Jack thinks of his parents, and how they were still in love till the day they died, even through the hardship. He can’t picture Rose and Cal ever loving each other the same way, even with the little interaction between them he’d seen last night. Jack has always figured that if two people really loved each other, if they really wanted to make it work… whatever other problems came their way, they could get past it eventually. That the love you get at the end of the day outweighs everything else.

Rose chokes on a laugh, “This is not a suitable conversation,”

_ So she doesn’t love him, _ Jack realizes.  _ She’s marrying a guy she doesn’t love.  _

“Why can’t you just answer the question?” He retorts, with a faint smile. Jack knows why, though. If Rose really loved Cal, she’d answer his question. She wouldn’t have to change the subject or even think about it. He suspects that she hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, even though somewhere inside, she must know.

Rose only laughs. “This is absurd! You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and we are  _ not _ having this conversation  _ at all,” _ She insists. Jack doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone trying so hard to not answer a question-- it’s almost humorous. “You are rude, and uncouth, and presumptuous, and I am  _ leaving _ now.” Rose grabs his hand, offering a firm, final handshake that goes on far too long to appear as anything other than silly. “Jack, Mister Dawson, it’s been a pleasure,” She smiles, “I sought you out to thank you, and now I have thanked you--”

“And you’ve insulted me,” He says. Jack doesn’t mind-- he’s been called worse than  _ Rude, uncouth, and presumptuous _ , and he knows that Rose doesn’t really mean it.

“Well, you deserved it,” She teases him in response.

“Right,”

“Right,”

“I thought you were leaving,” Jack accuses her, eyeing their still joined hands.  _ She doesn’t look much like she’s leaving,  _ He wants to laugh.

“I am,” She lets go of her hand-- Jack almost believes her, this time. “You are so  _ annoying,” _ Rose grouses, looking back at him. “Wait, I don’t have to leave,” Rose turns around, looking particularly pleased with herself. “This is my part of the ship.  _ You _ leave,” She insists, pointing in the direction of the third class deck.

“Well, well, well. Now who’s being rude?” Jack laughs, a hand on the rigging.

Before he can even blink, Rose has stolen the folder full of his drawings right out of his hands. “What is this stupid thing you’re carrying around?” She demands, turning through the pages one by one. “So what are you, an artist or something?” Rose asks, looking from him to his work. “These are rather good,” She takes a seat on one of the deck chairs, still studying a drawing. “They’re… they’re  _ very _ good, actually. Jack, this is exquisite work,”

“Ah, they didn’t think too much of ‘em in old Paree,” He wasted a whole year there, trying to get his work noticed. Paris was full of artists, though, and most of them had more outlandish ideas about art than what he favored. Most of those outlandish ideas were also more popular, too.

“Paris?” Rose asks, looking surprised. Jack nods. “You do get around. For a p-- well a-- a person of limited means.” Jack has been luckier than others in that respect, he supposes. Not many poor people could afford to see as much of the world as he has.

“Go on, I’m a poor guy, you can say it,” Jack says with a laugh, flashing her a grin. He’s been poor his whole life, and probably will be till the day he dies. There was no use in skirting around it like it was a dirty word.

“Well, well, well,” Rose gasps, having turned to a page with a drawing of a naked girl on it-- Laure, as he knows her. “And these were drawn from life?”

A first class man passes them-- Rose shields the drawings, and Jack waits until he passes to speak, leaning forward on his knees. “Well, that’s one of the good things about Paris, you see.” Jack says. “Lots of girls willing to take their clothes off,” He’d shared an apartment with Fabrizio in Paris, who’d been trying to make it as a singer and simultaneously taking any and every odd job he could find. In his time there, Jack had taken a job at a produce market, and spent his money buying time with the women at the brothels, just to draw them. After a while, he got to know some of the girls and became friendly with them-- he was one of the only men who  _ didn’t _ want to sleep with them. Then they took pity on him, spending all his money just to get subjects to draw, and started letting him draw them for no charge, when they weren’t working. He still remembers the first time Fabrizio came home one day to a naked prostitute posing in their living room, and dropped their groceries on the floor, breaking several eggs.

“You liked this woman.” Rose says, nodding at another drawing of Laure-- one of his many models, but also a good friend who was quite capable of drinking him under the table and robbing him blind in Poker. “You used her several times.”

“Well, she had beautiful hands, you see?” Jack explains, smoothing his fingertips over one sketch of her hands.

“I think you must have had a love affair with her,” Rose teases him, wearing a coquettish smile.

“No, no, no, no. Just with her hands,” He laughs with a shake of his head.  _ That’d make even Laure crack up.  _ “She was a one legged prostitute,” She twists her head to look at him, making a confused face. “See?” Jack turns back a few pages to a drawing that Rose obviously hadn’t looked too closely at, and points at where her leg stops below the knee.

_ “Oh,” _ Rose laughs, twisting her head at a certain angle.

“Ah, she had a good sense of humor, though. Oh, and this lady,” Jack remembers her all of a sudden, from numerous nights spent drinking in the pubs with Fabrizio and their other friends. “She used to sit at this bar every night, wearing every piece of jewelry she owned, just waiting for her long lost love. We called her  _ Madame Bijoux _ . See how her clothes are all moth eaten?” He asks, brushing over Madame’s coat and hat.

Rose breathes deeply, turning her eyes from the drawings right to him. “Well, you have a gift, Jack. You do,” She insists, “You see people.”

“I see you,” Jack tells her. How can he not? He still doesn’t know Rose that well, and he knows that she’s unhappy in her engagement, and doesn’t love him. But even seeing what he’s seen, Jack is sure that just doesn’t have it in herself to die.

“And?” Rose preens, beaming with her chin tipped up a bit.

“You wouldn’t have jumped,”

* * *

It’s not hard to be awed by the opulence of first class-- this will probably be the only time Jack gets this close to the other side of life. It's also not hard to feel out of place, like he's snuck in rather than being invited. Jack is a chameleon tonight, passable at a glance to all, looking comfortable in many roles, though he isn't. His time here is borrowed, like the suit he's wearing now. Though even with the clothes Molly generously leant him, he still doesn’t quite fit in. Jack isn’t really surprised by this; he never learned any of the social customs that seem to rule these gatherings. He doesn’t talk like the first class passengers, doesn’t walk like them. 

True, he knew his way around art. Most poor folk couldn’t say that, but Jack could hash out art ideas with the snobbiest without making a fool of himself. But he doesn’t know shit about business and really couldn’t care less about politics. Probably more telling than any of that was that he’d never cared for the conservative, old fashioned beliefs that most of the upper class citizens still abided by.  _ Bourgeoisie, _ the poverty-stricken Parisians had sneered at those who were more fortunate in life.

That was an old belief, too. Especially in France, though plenty common everywhere else. Each class hated the other two, and none of it was right. The poor certainly had more reason to hate the rich, with the way they were treated. Guys like him had been getting stepped on by guys like Cal since the beginning. That didn’t make it right for them to hate rich people on principle. It certainly wasn’t right how most of the upper class hated the steerage folk in that same way. Not everyone was like that, though. Thank god he wasn’t, thank god Rose wasn’t. Jack couldn’t imagine ever hating her.

Waiting, he leans against a pillar. It doesn’t take Jack long to recognize that the first class men even  _ stand _ different than he does-- they’re markedly different even on something that simple. He wants to do this right, and make a good impression, not like he had with spit on his chin earlier, so he corrects himself. Jack uncrosses his arms and straightens out his back and shoulders. He moves one arm behind his back and makes his expression look as bored and uninterested as possible, smiling and nodding politely when someone notices him, though he can't quite hold his other arm right at his side.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rose’s mother and Cal making their way down the grand staircase. They’re talking about steel from the sound of it, not that he’s an expert in that area, only observant. He steps out, hoping to greet them, but they pass by like he’s invisible, turning away and heading for some countess. Made sense. He must pass better than he thought-- enough so that they don’t recognize him in fancy dress.

However, their appearance means that Rose will be along shortly. Jack suddenly found himself at a loss of words. What should he say to her?  _ Thanks for not jumping, it’s a great meal ticket?  _ He practices on a pillar as straight faced as he can, offering a hand. 

Truthfully, she might crack a smile at that. Her smile was great. Jack could watch her smile all day. But tonight is different-- he’s not sure how. He just… wants her to take him seriously. Not that Rose doesn’t, but… he doesn’t like seeing her chained, the way she is. He’s not convinced she can see it all the way, either. Enough to know she’s not happy, not enough to be able to answer whether she loves Cal or not when pressed. Jack wants her to be able to see it, wants to help her. Doesn’t want her to just see some interesting stranger that happened along at the right time to save her. He wants to know her.

When he hears footsteps on the stairs, he realizes what it means. He does a double take when he turns and sees her standing on the staircase, a few steps above him. Jack can’t seem to take his eyes off Rose, the way he couldn’t the first time he saw her, the way he couldn’t when she walked down into steerage this morning.

Rose is made of fire, under his eyes. Without fail, she’s stolen all the air in his lungs. The dark beadwork on her dress doesn’t sparkle half as bright as her eyes do, and her dress is silken in ruby-black, but Jack likes the red of her hair better, curled and pinned up against her head. From this close he can smell the perfume she’s wearing. It’s familiar, definitely flowery, but Jack can’t get the name of whatever it is on his tongue.

Rose must see he's not comfortable, doesn't quite fit, but she doesn't say anything. In fact, the light way she’s smiling increases her loveliness tenfold. When that smile is directed onto Jack, it makes his heart drop into his stomach. Jack isn’t sure, but it might’ve skipped a couple of beats in there. Either that or he had butterflies for lunch. He’s poor enough to eat bugs, so it’s probably the butterflies. Maybe both.

He approaches Rose slowly, taking her hand as she comes closer. Without a beat, without even looking away from her, Jack offers her a kiss on the back of her hand. He wishes he'd remembered that sooner, but thankfully it came to him in time so he didn't make a fool of himself. "I saw that in a Nickelodeon once and I always wanted to do it,” He confesses to her, trying to stifle his grin.

Her laughter is one of the best things he’s ever heard. It makes his heart go skipping again. Or was that the butterflies? Jack still isn’t sure. Jack offers Rose an arm proudly, and she takes it after a moment, flashing that smile again. It warms him down to his toes. Maybe he’s mocking a bit when he holds his nose high in the air, the smuggest look he can muster on his face, but it just makes her laugh again and Jack won’t dare regret it. He looks to Rose as they approach her Mother and Cal, snagging their attention to re-introduce him.

“Dawson?” Cal remarks, incredulous, after Rose has brought him to their notice. “Well, it’s amazing!” He beams, looking him up and down. “You could almost pass for a gentleman,”

_ So could you, _ Jack thinks first. He bites his tongue. “Almost,” He concedes, tipping his head as if to say,  _ Darn! Not quite there this time. _ Story of his life. He’d never quite fit in anywhere. That’s what his Ma used to say, anyway. That he was wild, just dyin’ to break free. Back when she was still alive, that is. Jack supposed he was still trying to figure out where he fit. He’d know when he did.

“Extraordinary,” Rose’s fiancé says-- Jack has to remind himself again that she’s engaged, not that he gets the attraction. Her Mother is still looking at Jack like he’s a bug, but he doesn't expect her ire to change anytime soon.

On the way to the dining room, Jack remembers what was so familiar about her perfume, because he finally recognized the flower it came from. Lily of the Valley, it was. They used to grow in his mother’s little garden, her favorites. It was just a small patch, popping up in early spring with little white bells. They came back every year, probably after the fire, too. They were always sweet and lemony and reminded Jack of home. Home he hadn't seen in five years, flowers he hadn't smelled in five years. But Rose smelled like home.

* * *

“Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson,” Rose’s mother asks from across the table. She sounds intrigued when she speaks, but Jack knows she’s not asking out of curiosity. She’s hoping to embarrass him; most of these people still hadn’t a clue that he was from steerage until she opened her mouth. “I hear they’re quite good on this ship,”

Jack grits his teeth. “The best I’ve seen, ma’am,” He answers with a tight smile, “Hardly any rats.” The table chuckled at his response. He’s had plenty more embarrassing things happen to him in his life than being outed as a third class passenger, so Ruth had another thing coming to her if she thought that was all it would take. Still, he doesn’t appreciate the attempt. She clearly didn’t like him or his interest in Rose, and all evening had been barely concealing her distasteful sneer. But Jack wasn't so easily scared off as she might wish. If he could just keep from making a fool of himself throughout dinner, he’d be fine.

"Mr. Dawson is joining us from the third class," Cal explained. "He was of some assistance to my fiancé last night,"  _ Assistance is right,  _ Jack was tempted to roll his eyes, but didn't if only to continue looking polite.  _ I saved her life.  _ Not that Cal knew that she had been trying to kill herself. Jack would keep Rose's secret.

Rose herself spoke up then, leaning towards the table as a waiter filled her champagne glass. "It turns out that Mr. Dawson is quite a fine artist," She smiles. "He was kind enough to show me some of his work today,"

Cal plucked a few items off of the tray a waiter held beside him. "Rose and I differ somewhat in our definitions of fine art," He said, then turning his head to Jack, "Not to impugn your work, sir,"

Jack shook his head and waved it off. He knew that Rose appreciated a great deal of Impressionist work and even Cubism, which Jack himself enjoyed though he didn't make art in the same style. However, those art forms weren't for everyone, as Cal had just proved. Rose's fiancé didn't seem like the sort of person to appreciate anything but realism in his paintings.

Rose coughed discreetly across the table, her napkin in front of her mouth.  _ Hands, _ she mouthed.  _ Oh,  _ Jack realized, slipping them and his napkin off the table for the waiter behind him.

Next to his plate where the silverware was were about three different forks, and several knives and spoons. He leaned over to Molly, surreptitious. "Are these all for me?" He hissed. Formal dining hadn’t exactly been a common occurrence in his home growing up, but when Mom did bother to set the table, there weren’t nearly this many utensils.

Molly looked at him out of the corner of her eye and whispered back, "Just start from the outside and work your way in."

"How do you take your caviar, sir?" An older waiter asked.

Jack looked up at the waiter, shaking his head lightly. "No caviar for me, thanks. Never did like it much." He'd never  _ had  _ caviar in truth, since he was too poor to eat normal food plenty of nights, so who's to say whether he liked it or not. However, Jack couldn't imagine anything that came out of a fish's ass tasted great. Rose certainly could afford it, and she claimed to hate it, so it couldn't be good. Rose smiled at her plate in amusement.

"And where do you live, Mr. Dawson?" Rose's mother asked, nibbling on a cracker full of caviar.

Jack took a breath. "Well, right now, my address is the  _ RMS Titanic _ ," He says. "After that I'm on God's good humor." Maybe he'd hang around New York for a while.  _ Maybe New Orleans, haven't been there yet.  _ He'd go back home to Chippewa Falls for at least a little while. He hadn't been there in five years. Maybe he could pick up some things from the house there.  _ Maybe back to Monterey to ride horses with Rose… _

"And how is it you have the means to travel?"

"I work my way from place to place," Jack shrugged, scratching usher his nose. "You know, tramp steamers and such. But I won my ticket for  _ Titanic  _ here at a lucky hand at poker," Rose smiled shyly across the table. "A  _ very  _ lucky hand,"

"All life is a game of luck," One of the older gentlemen at the table remarked.

Cal shakes his head, sipping from his champagne. "A real man makes his own luck. Right, Dawson?" Jack hums in response with a vague smile.

Rose's mother pipes up again, looking very unamused. "And you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?" If looks could kill, he'd be dead, but so would Ruth, judging from the way that Molly was glaring at her.

Jack swallowed, looking at her across the table. He'd have to choose his answer very carefully if he wanted to look good. "Well, yes ma'am, I do," He admitted. "I've got everything I need right here with me," He smiles. Jack put his hands to his chest. "I've got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. And I love waking up in the morning not knowing where I'm going to go," He took a bite of his roll-- it's the best thing he's tasted in a long while. "Who I'm going to meet, where I'm going to wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge, and now here I am, on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people." Jack lifted his champagne glass for the waiter to fill it. The table laughed again, but Jack couldn't be more serious. "I'll take some more of that," He says to the waiter while they're not paying too much attention.

“I figure, life’s a gift, and I don’t intend on wasting it," Jack says, taking a sip of his champagne. "You never know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you…" Seeing Cal looking for a light for his cigarette, Jack pulls out his own matchbox and tosses it over to him. "Oh, here you go, Cal," Cal catches it, with a surprised look. "To make each day count.” He finishes, certain of his words, and equally sure that he hadn't embarrassed himself the way Rose's mother had hoped he would.

“Well said, Jack,” Molly nodded approvingly.

“Hear, hear.” Colonel Gracie agreed.

Rose’s green eyes sparkled at him across the table, and she wore a winsome smile. “To making it count,” She says, lifting her champagne glass into the air. Those butterflies from earlier started going in his stomach again.

“To making it count,” The table chorused, lifting their glasses. With a smile, he joins in their toast. Jack can be proud of himself for tonight. He's survived the first class dinner and impressed the others who had attended. From the looks of it, he's even made a good impression on Rose. 

Across the room, Jack catches sight of the clock-- it reads eight-thirty. Surely this party can't drag on for much longer, but he knows that down in third class, the night will have just begun. He doesn't quite feel like his night with Rose is done yet. An idea takes root in his mind, there for a second and growing stronger each moment.  _ Take her to the party in third class. She'll have a good time. _

After a few minutes, he works up the courage to ask Molly if she has a pen and some paper on her. Thankfully she does, and passes them to him covertly under the table. She doesn't ask what it's for, but Jack wouldn't be surprised if she suspected it had to do with Rose.

He'll find a way to get the paper to her before he leaves. As the evening in first class winds down, Jack scrawls his message to her in his lap, and folds the paper to keep in his pocket till he needs it.

_ Make it count. Meet me at the clock. _

* * *

“Come, Josephine, in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes…” The next few words of the song seem to escape them. Jack can’t even remember how they got to be singing this song, but together they push on to the next line, “...Something about a bird on a beam, in the air she goes--”

“Where?” Rose sings, loud and proud. “There she goes. Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh, my! The moon is on fire…” Rose draws off, staring right ahead at the sign for the first class entrance. Which means that… Rose had to leave. Their night together was over.

Jack would be lying if he said he wanted her to leave. Rose seems to have similar feelings, turning to him wearing a sad smile which she can’t seem to make stay in place. She pulls her coat from his shoulders, and hands it back to him. It carries the warmth of her body with it, and the scent of her perfume--  _ Lily of the Valley,  _ he thinks again with a wave of nostalgia. “Here we are,” Rose says to him.

Jack nods at her, sighing, “Right.” He supposes he can’t keep her here forever, as much as he might be wishing it.

“I don’t want to go back,” She tells him with a secretive smile. Jack knows she doesn’t-- he wants the same thing.  _ Is falling in love always so easy?  _ Jack wonders as he watches her, with those butterflies in his stomach again and unable to look away from her. He’s sure that that’s what it is-- falling in love with Rose.  _ Is it always so effortless? _

At that moment, Rose turns her eyes upward, to the starry night sky. “Look,” Rose says, eyes still trained on the stars above them. “It’s beautiful,” She says.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, even though he’s more looking at Rose than the stars. His eyes sweep over the sky she’s looking at, and can’t help but be entranced the same way she is. He always watched the stars when he was a kid, and watches them still now that he’s grown. There was something magical about the stars, and there was nothing quite like the stars over an ocean. An ocean beneath their feet, and an ocean above their heads.

Rose turns around, her hand on a davit as she speaks, “So vast and endless…” She sighs. “We’re so small. My crowd, they think they’re giants,” She says, looking at him for a half second before she looks up again. “They’re not even dust in God’s eye.”

He looks at her, thinking,  _ No, that’s not right.  _ Rose isn’t like the other upper class passengers, and he refuses to believe that she could  _ ever _ be dust in God’s eye. “You know, there’s been a mistake.” Jack says with a grin, “You’re not one of them.  _ You  _ got mailed to the wrong address.” She had to have been. It was the only explanation. In another life, they wouldn’t be of different social standings, and Jack would be free to love Rose as he desires.

Rose laughs, “I did, didn’t I?” She knows it just as well as he does. “Look!” She cries barely a moment later, pointing up at a silver streak flying across the sky. “A shooting star!”

Jack leans closer to look, and only just manages to catch it before it fades from view, gone as quickly as it came. “That was a long one,” He’s with his father then, as a little boy, remembering Dad’s smile as he pointed out the different constellations, quizzing Jack on each one till he could point them out by heart. “You know, my Pops used to tell me every time you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven,” Jack tells her. He looks back up at the stars. 

"I like that," Rose says at his side.  _ What would Dad think of me now?  _ Jack wonders.  _ Falling in love with a rich girl? Would he be proud? _ “Aren’t we supposed to wish on it?” She asks, ever so innocently, pulling him from that thought. 

Jack doesn’t even bother to hide the affection in his gaze when he looks at her. Why shouldn’t he want her to know how he feels? When he knows that she at least in part feels the same? “Why?” He wonders, truly genuine in his intentions. “What would you wish for?” What could Rose possibly want enough to wish for it on a star? He thinks he knows. He hopes he’s right about it.

Rose thinks about it for a long moment, looking at him with her blue eyes. For the first time, Jack really notices how striking her eyes are, dark blue, truer than the ocean, and oh so easy to drown in. So easy to let himself fall into and never return.  _ I should kiss her, _ Jack thinks.  _ I want to kiss her.  _

Something in her changes, before he can. It makes her sigh, and pull back just enough, her lips pressed into the faintest line of disappointment. Regret. “Something I can’t have,” She tells him.  _ The same way I can’t have her.  _ At that moment, Jack feels colder than he’s been all evening. Her engagement ring glints in the light, a cruel reminder that Rose isn’t his, can never be his, belongs to another man. “Goodnight Jack,” Rose demurs, putting space between them and making for the door. Jack doesn’t know how she can bear it-- furthering the distance, rather than closing it.

_ Wait,  _ He wants to cry after her, takes a step after her. 

Rose looks over her shoulder at him once more, before she disappears into the first class rooms for good. Something passes between them in that moment, her expression somewhere between desire and regret, between fear and anticipation. Whatever it is, it makes Rose turn away from him, letting the door close between them, and just like that, she’s gone.

_ Dammit,  _ He thinks, scrubbing a hand through his hair and biting his lip.  _ I should have kissed her. _

* * *

“Hello, Mr. Andrews,” Jack greeted the gentleman warmly as he passed by on the staircase. He hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to him last night, but he’d seemed a nice enough fellow-- not nearly as stuck up as some of the other dinner guests were.

Mr. Andrews looked up from his paperwork with a smile. “Hello, Jack,” He answered with a nod, moving on just as quickly as Jack had.

He was back to being out of place again, as he looked around the hall. With the right clothes, he’d fit in well enough last night, but Jack knew he didn’t look the part anymore.  _ Molly said she might be at the morning service,  _ he remembered. Jack had gone early this morning to return his clothes from last night, and ask if she had any idea where he might be able to find Rose.  _ “I knew you were sweet on her,” _ She’d said with a smile, and went on to explain that though she didn’t think he’d have a good chance of being able to see her in her stateroom, Rose might be planning to attend the morning mass that day, and he might be able to have a word with her then.

Jack turned to his left where he heard singing. “Sir,” One of the doormen greeted, stepping in his path.

“I just need to talk to somebody for a second,” He explains, trying to push past him.

“Sir, you’re not supposed to be in here,” The doorman replies, gently pushing him back.

“I just need to speak to someone,” Jack insisted, still trying to make it around him, but the doorman wouldn’t have it. “I was just here last night, you don’t remember me?” Jack asked the man in disbelief.  _ It’s the clothes,  _ He knew. They made all the difference in the world-- after all, Cal and Rose’s mother hadn’t even recognized him when they came down for dinner.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” The doorman informed him, shaking his head. “Now, you’re going to have to turn around--”

“He’ll tell you,” Jack cut him off, as Cal’s valet stepped out to them. He’d been around last night at a distance, and Jack had a good eye for faces, especially one as permanently dour as the one before him. “I just, I need to see--”

Lovejoy’s face was grim. “Mr. Hockley and Mrs. Dewitt Bukater continue to be appreciative of your assistance,” The Valet said smoothly. “They asked me to give you this, in gratitude,” He pulled out a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, holding it for him.  _ Are they trying to pay me to stay away from her? Cal tried to pay me when I saved Rose that night. _

“I don’t want your money,” Jack says. “Please, I just-- I--”

“Also,” Lovejoy interjected, “To remind you that you hold a third class ticket, and that your presence here is no longer appropriate.”

“Please, I just wanna speak to Rose for one second, alright?”

Cal’s Valet was stone faced. “Gentleman, would you please see that Mr. Dawson--”

“Please!”

“--gets back to where he belongs,” Lovejoy passed the bill to the doorman who’d kept him out, without so much as a blink. “And that he stays there.”

“Yes, sir,” The doorman replied enthusiastically. “Come along, you,” With their hands on his back, they escorted him out of the first class hall and out towards the third class deck.

* * *

"She's a goddess among mortal men, there's no denying," Tommy admits as the three of them rushed up the stairs. He’d been there at the party last night to witness… Rose. She was miraculous, captivating.  _ I’ve got to see her again,  _ Jack thinks.  _ Whatever it takes.  _ He opened the gate to the next level without a hesitation at the sign that forbade his entrance, and went forward to the balcony of the next level. "But she's in another world, Jack. Forget her." Tommy insisted as he chased after him. "She's up there closing the door. Just forget her."

_ I won’t forget her.  _ Rose was in his veins now, in all his thoughts. It would’ve been smart to just leave her behind like Tommy said-- their lives were so different. Jack knew he had everything going against him in this, but he knew how he felt. And he couldn’t leave Rose behind in her life when  _ Titanic _ docked without knowing if she felt the same. He’s finally found something that feels right-- feels like  _ home _ , and he’s not letting her go without a fight.

Jack pokes his head up over the edge of the first class deck. No one was there to see him, just a couple of people to his left that weren’t watching.  _ They won’t see me, if I’m quiet. _ "He's not being logical, I tell you," The Irishman groused.

"Amore is not logical," Fabrizio shrugs, getting down with Tommy to help Jack up.

With no one paying attention, he quickly climbs over the railing to the other side-- the first class decks. Nobody would’ve blinked an eye at him being here last night, but without the right clothes, Jack doesn’t blend in so well. Trying to look like he belonged there, the way he'd attempted last night, Jack walks away from the balcony with smooth, quick steps. He's already been thrown out of first class once this morning for trying to talk to Rose; Jack didn't have any intention of being forced to leave prematurely again.

Jack takes an abandoned coat and bowler hat from a chair as he passes by. The coat is long and well made, not worn thin like most of his own clothes. It fits well, as does the hat, which will hopefully help improve his disguise.  _ The hair, _ he reminded himself, and licks his fingers just enough to slick back the strands of hair that poked out around his ears, the way that wealthy men kept their hair.

Jack wanders around up there for a while after that-- it takes him a bit to figure out where Rose is, without knowing what her plans were for the morning. He hadn't the faintest clue where her rooms were, and appearing there would be too risky. Thankfully, after not too long, she passes by him on a tour of the ship with some other passengers and Mr. Andrews. Rose doesn’t notice him, but at the moment, that’s alright.

When he hears Mr. Andrews mention their next destination, he picks his spot carefully, and waits for her to pass by the lifeboats outside the gymnasium.  _ Thank god she lagged back,  _ Jack thinks when he sees that she's at the back of the party speaking with Mr. Andrews about the lifeboats, unnoticed by the rest of the group while Cal and her Mother move along. As soon as the older man turns and moves away, Jack catches Rose by the arm.

The surprise on her face is evident, but he's already making for the gymnasium and beckoning for her to follow her. Any protests die on her lips, though she looks between him and the departing tour in such a manner that he knows they won't have long. He won't let her avoid him this time, though-- he came here for a reason. Jack gently urged Rose inside the gymnasium, his hand on her back and closed the door behind him.

"Jack, this is impossible," Rose tells him when they're alone. "I can't see you," She shakes her head, making for the door.

"I need to talk to you," Jack insists, heading her off so she's trapped between him and the window. She’d gotten away from him last night before he could say or do anything, as much as he wanted to. Rose was going to hear this-- she had to know. He takes off the ridiculous hat he's wearing, about to open his mouth and start with what he’d come to say, but Rose cuts him off.

"No, Jack," Rose responded, firm. "No." She looks upset, frustrated, but Jack doesn't think any of those emotions are really directed at him.  _ I'd know if she was mad at me.  _ He thinks her words come from denial more than anything, and that she knows why he’s here. "Jack, I'm engaged," She says, eyes averted, and then looks back up at him with a pained expression. "I'm marrying Cal. I love Cal,"

He doesn't believe that, and neither does she. Rose had avoided the question of if she loved her fiancé too much for her to really feel that way. If Rose really loved Cal… it wouldn’t feel as right to be with her as it does. If Rose really loved her fiancé, she wouldn’t look at Jack the way she does. She’s lying to herself, but she won’t admit it. That’s alright, though, because Jack doesn’t have that problem. He’s never been afraid of how he feels, least of all for her.

"Rose, you're no picnic," He starts, and damn the part of him that decided it would be a good idea to insult her before telling her how he felt, but Jack is going now and he won't stop. "Alright, you're a spoiled little brat even. But under that, you're the most… amazingly, astounding,  _ wonderful _ girl--  _ woman _ \-- that I've ever known." Their lives were so different, there were so many reasons why he shouldn’t be falling in love with her. But inside, they were alike. Rose was  _ brilliant,  _ and he couldn’t get enough of her. Jack’s never been good with words-- he knows how he feels, it’s swarming his heart right now, so overpowering he can hardly think-- but now it’s particularly hard to find the  _ right _ words, ones that describe exactly how he feels, because really there aren’t any words that  _ could _ describe it. "And--"

Rose turned away, walking down the wall and away from him. She shook her head, "Jack, I--"

"No, let me try and get this out," Jack begged, chasing her. He knows she thinks it’s impossible, she’d said so. Maybe they should be impossible, but being with her was right, loving her was right. Rose stopped against the next window down and faced him in defeat, her face blank. "You-- you're amaz--" He's got too many thoughts inside him that he has to voice to her, and it makes him stop mid sentence.  _ I should’ve kissed her last night when I had the chance, then I wouldn’t be stuck trying to tell her like this. _ If Jack said it the wrong way, she might try to leave again-- there were a hundred different ways for him to tell her how he felt, but not one of them seemed quite right. "I'm not an idiot," Jack said in a quieter voice. "I know how the world works. I've got ten bucks in my pocket, and I have  _ nothing  _ to offer you, and I  _ know  _ that. I understand. But I'm too involved now," He explained softly. "You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowing you'll be alright," 

The truth of his feelings is on his tongue. Jack wants to tell her so badly that it hurts, but the words won't come, now. She won’t listen to him if he tells her that he’s fallen, that he’s in love with her. As much as he wants to say it, as much as he’d like to kiss her, he can’t. Even if somewhere inside her Rose knows it’s the truth, she won’t let herself believe it. She’d say that they hadn’t known each other long enough for it to be real, that she loved her fiancé. Even if she never comes around, he needs to know that she won’t end up on another railing one day without anyone to pull her off. “That's all that I want," Jack says. It's the biggest lie he's ever told.

"Well, I'm fine," Rose answered after a beat of silence so loud it was painful. "I'll be fine. Really," But like so many other things she's told him in this conversation, she doesn't even look like she believes herself.

"Really?" Jack asks. She doesn't have an answer. "I don't think so," Jack shook his head. Rose didn’t want to see the truth of what they were doing to her, the chains they had her in, but it wouldn’t end well if she didn’t. It would end in her dead, or turned into what they wanted her to be. " _ They've  _ got you trapped, Rose. And you're gonna die if you don't break free, maybe not right away, because you're strong, but…” She wouldn’t be able to take it forever. She’d break. Jack doesn’t want to put it in words how it would destroy him if that happened to her-- if he looked at the paper one day and read that she’d killed herself, if she died because he’d left and no one had helped her. It would kill him to know that. “Sooner or later, that fire that I love about you, Rose…" Jack’s hand brushes over her cheek. He’s danced with her before, had his arms around her, but this is the most personal way he’s ever touched her. His thumb grazes over her skin. "That fire's gonna burn out,"

Rose has tears in her eyes when she looks at him. She takes a long moment before responding, and when she finally does, her words are cutting. "It's not up to you to save me, Jack,"

"You're right," Jack whispers. He's never wanted to be the one to save her. He just wants Rose to save herself instead of letting herself flounder in the life that was given to her.  _ I can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. _ "Only you can do that,"

Her hand is on his for a half a second, warm through her silk gloves. He's never wanted to kiss her more, but when Rose looks up, she looks like she's about to cry. "I'm going back," She says finally, slipping away from him. "Leave me alone,"

The door closes behind her. It’s beginning to feel like half of his relationship with Rose is just her walking away and him watching as she goes. Once again, he waited too long. He’d like to kick himself for letting her get away again without doing what he’d come to do, without ever actually telling her how he felt about her.  _ How can I do it now?  _ He thought.  _ She doesn’t want me around. She wants me to leave her alone. _

There wasn’t any helping her if Rose wouldn’t take help. If Rose wanted to be saved, he couldn’t go after her. She’d have to find him on her own. She’d have to decide it on her own, and save herself.

* * *

That night, the sunset is a thing of beauty. It reminds him of the ones that he used to see all the time in Santa Monica-- nothing beats a setting sun over the ocean, the way the water mirrors the colors of the sky in between blackness.  _ Rose would love this, _ Jack thinks. He just knows she would.  _ I’m supposed to stay away from her,  _ He reminds himself.

“Hello, Jack.” Her voice comes from over his shoulder, like she somehow knew that he was thinking about her. She’s there when he turns, so gorgeous he’d ordinarily think she was a figment of his imagination. Jack knows she’s real. “I changed my mind,” Rose says, wearing an arresting smile, like the decision has surprised even her.  _ Of course she did,  _ Jack thinks, unable to keep from smiling in return. She moves toward him, saying, “They said you might be up here--”

“Shh. Give me your hand,” Jack asks her, holding out his hand. When Rose takes it, he notices how warm her hand is in his, how soft. The sunlight makes her hair look like fire.  _ She’s gonna love this.  _ “Now close your eyes. Go on,” Rose closes her eyes, her lips curving in amusement. “Now step up,” Jack guides her closer to the railing with a hand on the small of her back. “Now hold onto the railing. Keep your eyes closed, don’t peek.”

“I’m not,” 

“Step up onto the railing,” He says. “Hold on. Hold on,” Jack helps Rose up onto the lowest part of the railing, his hand in hers, and presses close behind her, looking over her shoulder. This is the closest they’ve ever been on purpose-- not even when they were dancing. “Keep your eyes closed. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you,” She answers. Ahead of them, the sky is even more brilliant than it was when he turned away. His heart quickens, beating against her back. Slowly, he pulls her arms out to her sides, fully extended, like a bird in flight.

“Alright,” He whispers. His hands fall around her waist, flat on her belly. “Open your eyes,” 

Jack can tell the moment that she does, because a gasp escapes her, and it’s the most wonderful noise he’s ever heard. “I’m flying,” She gasps, beaming into the open air.  _ I made her smile that way, _ He thinks.  _ I made her happy. _ Maybe he’s good for something after all. “Jack…” He brings his hands out from Rose’s waist to entangle with hers. He lets his fingers play over her knuckles, and fingertips, and the tendons. Her skin is soft, from years of a pampered life. He knows that she longs to have calluses on her hands one day.  _ Her hands are beautiful. _

“Come Josephine in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes…” He sings in her ear-- the song from last night, when he should have kissed her. _God, I want to kiss her._ He’s wanted to kiss Rose for two days now. Something changes then-- Jack isn’t sure what, but he feels it. Maybe it’s the wind, maybe it’s her. He’s hot and cold all at once, covered in goosebumps. The sun inches lower on the horizon, staining the sky in shades of lilac and magenta and gold. Jack’s hands slide around Rose’s waist of their own accord. He turns to her, holding her close. _Should I ask permission to kiss her?_

Rose’s eyes sparkle up at him, the same blue as the ocean at their feet, when the sun is high.  _ Oh,  _ He thinks. Jack could look at her forever, just learning the lines and shape of her face… the slope of her nose, the arc of her eyebrows, the bow of her lips. And then he thinks, already leaning down,  _ Maybe this is permission enough. _

Rose meets him in the middle, leaning up at the same time. Her lips are soft against his; she tastes like tea and smells like she did last night, like home. Her hand creeps up to the back of her neck, and her fingers thread through his hair. They don’t break even to breathe, only become further and further enraptured in one another. 

They aren’t two anymore-- there is one heart between them.

* * *

“Cal insists on carting this hideous thing everywhere,” Rose says from the other room, busying herself with the combination lock. He wasn’t quite sure what she was going after-- Rose hadn’t said, just that she wanted to show it to him. 

“Can we be expecting him anytime soon?” He asks drily, hands stuffed into his pockets to hide how they clench at the thought of Rose’s fiancé. Jack isn’t ordinarily a jealous man-- not much he felt like being jealous of, to be frank. But he couldn’t help it now. 

Maybe he was in love with Rose. That didn’t scare him, even if it was soon. But she felt the same now, and Jack couldn’t stand the thought of her going back to Cal after everything-- after the kiss they’d shared on the bow of the ship, warm and cold at the same time. The memory still puts butterflies in his stomach.

“Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out.” Rose answers in a bland but certain voice. She set a box down on the table and sauntered towards him with something silvery in her hands. It’s a necklace-- sparkling even in this light. She passes it to him.

“That's nice,” He tells her, impressed. The chain is set with diamonds, and at the center is a massive blue stone cut into the shape of a heart. It’s heavier than he thought it would be, but that’s why he’s so certain it’s no mere trinket. It’s not a glass jewel for the pendant-- it’s got to be a real thing. “What is it, a sapphire?” Jack holds it up to the light, looking at it closer.

“A diamond.” Rose corrects, peering over his shoulder at it with a bored look. “A very rare diamond.” Jack shook his head, blowing a gust of air. The stone casts blue flecks of light onto his hands when he twists it, while the diamonds gleam in shades of silverwhite. Something like this, he imagines, would probably cost more than a month’s wages for the entirety of the third class passengers on this ship-- combined.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls." A soft voice says over his shoulder, but he’s not really paying attention. This is another thing he could draw, if he can just memorize it while he has the chance. He could see drawing it in Rose’s hands, or worn loose around her neck. "Wearing this.”

“Alright.” He echoes, still looking at the way the diamond catches the light, turning it over in his hands. He could be arrested for just looking at something like this, under the wrong circumstances.

“Wearing  _ only  _ this,”

Jack turns. Rose is watching him with an interested look-- patient and curious, but also determined. She’s not having a joke on him, she’s not making this up. Rose wants him to draw her wearing the necklace that’s in his hand-- naked. Although he’s certain that his heart stopped at those words, she’s not giving him any reason to believe that she doesn’t mean what she’s said.

_ What the hell are you doing, Jack?  _ The amount of trouble he could get in for this is unfathomable, and he knows that-- trouble just for being in this room with Rose, and no one else. If someone found them, and she was naked? Jack would never see the light of day again.

He can’t deny her of this-- won’t. It’s crazy, but Jack won’t tell her ‘no’ where so many other people already have. He’ll draw her, like he’s wanted to since he first laid eyes on Rose, and she’s going to take off her  _ clothes… _

But this isn’t about what Jack wants. This is about Rose, and what she wants. If she wants this, despite all the reasons not to do it, Jack won’t stop her.

He goes along with it. He preps the room while she undresses-- pulling the couch into the center so that it faces the armchair he’s going to sit in while he works. Jack rearranges the pillows to one side, fluffing them a bit. His palms are sweating, his heart is pounding. It’s only been minutes, but he’s more nervous now than he was the first time he ever kissed a girl, or had someone sit for a portrait. Jack busies himself with supplies next, unfolding his bag of utensils and taking out his piece of charcoal to sharpen. He makes himself concentrate on  _ that _ , not that she’s in there, taking off her clothes, and that he’s only just met her, just kissed her for the first time, and he thinks he’s fallen in love with her already.

The door to Rose’s room opens, and he can’t make himself look away.

Her robe is dark, and not even tied, just draped loosely around her. The sleeves go down to the floor, and it trails on the carpet behind her. Rose’s auburn curls are down, and soft. The diamond peeks out from the robe at her neck, just above where she clutches the two sides together. It’s almost translucent against her skin-- Jack can just make out the outline of her breasts through the fabric, and the dusky shade of her nipples. She twirls the tassel of her robe around her finger, the way a burlesque dancer would, a mischievous smile curling onto her face. Something bubbles in his stomach. Jack isn’t sure if it’s nerves or excitement, but it makes him smile in return.

“The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll,” Rose says, walking closer to him one step at a time. She holds her hand out to him-- he sees something silver and small in her fingers. It’s a dime.  _ Portraits for ten cents a piece,  _ he remembers telling her. She drops the dime into his lap. “As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want,”

Her face is smug when she says that, but then she steps back and a different expression replaces it. He isn’t sure what it is that she’s feeling, if it’s apprehension or desire or anticipation. Jack is certain that he’s feeling it, too. Rose parts the sides of her robe, and lets it slip off her shoulders to puddle around her ankles.

She’s just standing there, and they’re looking at each other, and his mouth has gone dry and is that his heart pounding so fast? Jack can barely hear over it. But God above, she’s _ beautiful,  _ and he could look at her forever, her creamy skin and the shape of her hips, and he’s not supposed to be  _ looking _ at her. Not like this. Rose didn’t take off her clothes for him to ogle her-- she has some ulterior motive, he just doesn’t know it yet. He’s supposed to look at her like an artist looks at his subject, not a starving man looking at his next meal. But he’s never felt less like an artist in his life. In fact, his hands might start shaking if he even picked them up.

“Over on the bed-- the couch,” He says, immediately realizing his mistake. But  _ God,  _ wouldn’t he like to take her to bed. Drawing her will be so much harder than anything else he’s drawn before-- it will be the death of him. “Good. Lie down,” Jack says, as Rose walks over to the couch and lays back on it, looking shy all of a sudden, grasping at the pillows behind her for support. "Yeah, keep that--

“Tell me when it looks right,”

“Put your arm back the way it was." He insists. Something about the angle just looked right, with her arm bent above her head.  _ Contrapposto, _ he thinks the word is. Something about how her hips and shoulders offset each other, and the way her breast curves with her arm up, it makes her look more open and unafraid, and less like she’s on display. Like she could’ve just been lying that way in bed.  _ "Right." _ He sighs. "Put that other arm up… that hand right by your face, there,” To his instructions, Rose moves her hand by her head, like she’s just been brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Right. Now, head down. Eyes to me, keep them on me. And… try to stay still.”

It’s not so hard, all of a sudden, to slip into being an artist again, rather than someone who’s in love with Rose, and would like very much to go over to the couch she’s lying on and kiss the living daylights out of her. It’s not so difficult to see just shadows and lines and curves and the different textures of the scene. But it’s still the hardest he’s had to work at concentrating on his subject and simultaneously  _ not concentrating on his subject. _

“So serious,” Rose murmurs, her voice teasing, blue eyes sparkling at him in a way that makes him think, if the diamond on her chest could be jealous, it would be. He smirks, and goes back to his drawing. None of his subjects have ever teased him before-- been playful with him before, when he’s drawing them entirely naked. Even the prostitutes didn’t laugh at him like she is.

Her gaze has a weight to it, like it’s a thing he can feel and touch. He shades the likes of her stomach, down to her navel, brushes his fingers under her breasts to soften the shading there. Biting his lip, he lets his gaze stray from the paper for a bit too long. Jack’s eyes wander over her skin, down her belly and hips, till he reaches the downy red curls at the juncture of her thighs. Before he knows it, he’s hard against his trousers.  _ She’s never been touched,  _ he thinks.  _ Not the way she deserves.  _ He’d like to touch her there, kiss her there, make love to her. He’d like to have her legs around him, and forget about everything else in the world.  _ Maybe one day, she’ll let me. _

He’s never blushed because of someone he’s drawing either. Heat rises up his neck, turning his face into what he’s sure is a lovely reddish pink color. Jack crosses his legs and adjusts the folder in his lap, hoping that Rose hasn’t noticed anything. She has, though, and her voice comes from the couch, high and full of mischief and smugness. “I believe you are blushing, Mister Big Artiste.” Rose says, smirking over at him. “I can’t imagine monsieur Monet Blushing.”

No, he’s certain that Monet never had this problem. Flowers never laughed at you and smiled like _ that _ , and didn’t have beautiful curves and blue eyes he wished he could do justice to. Maybe he  _ should _ try his hand at painting flowers and other less talkative subjects. It was a good way to avoid embarrassing situations like the one he’s got now. “He does  _ landscapes,”  _ Jack says, like that’s an excuse for it. “Just relax your face.”

“Sorry,” Rose apologizes, trying to straighten her features again. He’s already done her face, but she doesn’t have to know that.

“No laughing.” Jack reminds her anyway. He’s almost done already, just finishing up on the shading, and her hair and little things like that. It feels like he’s been drawing her for hours and for five minutes at the same time. Time passes in limbo, with just the sounds of his heartbeat and the charcoal on the paper, and faint sounds of the band playing from the ballroom. This is the most personal drawing he’s ever done, the most intimate he’s ever been with someone he’s drawn. 

He’s drawn a thousand portraits before, but never like this. Never with this feeling coiling in his stomach, like a live eel, or a blush on his face. It’s different.  _ It’s like lovemaking, _ he thinks, of what they’re doing. Of the way Rose is looking at him, her eyes dark and unreadable but he _ knows _ what she’s thinking anyway, and the way he watches her back, the way he draws her.  _ We’re making love, without even touching one another.  _

Jack would give anything to be able to touch her, to know the warmth of her skin against his. To know how sweet it would be, to really make love to Rose DeWitt Bukater.

Before long, he stops denying that there’s anything more he can do to the drawing that would make it better. It’s as good and better than anything he’s ever done. For a few moments, he just sits there, pretending to draw Rose, and sneaking glances at her, memorizing the way she looks. It might be the only time he ever gets to see her like this. He hopes it’s not.

Jack tells her that he’s done, and that she can get up. Rose rises from her position and picks up her robe from the floor, with her back to him. He tries not to feel like a tremendous pervert watching her put it back on.  _ If she minded,  _ He tells himself, blowing charcoal off the paper and brushing it a bit.  _ She wouldn’t have asked me to draw her.  _

Rose is behind him, hovering over his shoulder. Her palm rests on his shoulder as he signs it, and leaves the date. “Thank you,” She whispers, turning her head towards him. Rose kisses him again. Her lips are soft against his, warm. She’s laughing through it and trying to pull the drawing away from him, but he doesn’t want to give it up. Her love is like warm sunlight, he thinks, weightless and soothing, and in a room that isn’t his own where they could be caught at any moment, he’s never been happier. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Pretty tough for a valet, this fella,” Jack laughs, breathing hard against the wall with a hand on his side. They’ve run all the way from Rose’s rooms trying to outrun him, but now watching him struggle seems more interesting.  _ We probably should’ve gone back up a flight or two to really confuse him,  _ He thinks, because it took people too long to realize when someone had doubled back, and changed directions. They’d have more time that way. “Seems more like a cop,"

"I think he was,” Rose breathed, resting back on the wall opposite of him. “Cal’s father hired him to keep his little boy out of trouble. To make sure he got back to the hotel with his wallet, after his crawl through the less reputable parts of town,” She laughs head against the wall. She’s breathless, flushed faintly with her breasts straining against her gown as she breathes. Jack finds himself looking at her lips again, thinking that he’d like to kiss her, and feel her heartbeat against his.

_ It’s not such a bad place for it, _ he thinks, looking in either direction.  _ No one is here, no one is watching us. _ It’s the first time they’ve been really alone since he was drawing her, since Rose was naked and lying on the couch. Jack smirks, grabbing her hands with his and pulling her body against him, his back pressed against the wall. “Kind of like we’re doin’ right now, huh?” He asks. Somehow, with Rose so close to him, no picture of Cal associating with lowly people such as himself comes to mind. He can’t see it. Rose and him, though, he remembers her words from yesterday--  _ Poor but free, living in a garret _ \-- that he can picture clearly. 

Jack dips his head, about to press his lips to hers, when he notices a flash of movement over her shoulder-- Lovejoy turning around and seeing them. "Oh,  _ shit," _ He says, because really, what else was there to say, as Rose is noticing the same thing and Lovejoy is coming after them, and  _ Damn,  _ that would’ve been a fantastic kiss.

"Go!" Rose screams, already bolting down the hall and around the corner. It’s a dead end, but it’s not, because there’s a closet, and with Lovejoy on their heels they manage to get inside and shut the door on him, and discover that the closet is not really a closet at all, but it has a ladder that, by the heat, Jack knows goes down to the boiler rooms.

Rose shouts over the noise, with her hands over her ears. Jack can hardly hear her, but he knows what she’s said. “Now what?”

They run away.

* * *

"Put your hands on me, Jack," Rose whispers.

He falters then, just for a moment. Jack's brain doesn't seem to understand what she's said, or believe it, because he doesn't move a muscle. He doesn't know how to react at all.

Rose has to know that. He hasn't taken his eyes off her, waiting for more of a cue, and she gives it. She's still holding his hand--Rose pulls his palm downward to her breast, pressing it there. Under his hand, her flesh is soft and warm, with a pleasant weight. Jack knew; he'd seen it all earlier, drew it on paper and burned her image into his memories. It makes his heart pound faster.

Jack kisses her. At the beginning it's soft, gentle, like the one they'd shared on the bow of the ship. But like so many things, the kiss quickly gets away from them. Before he realizes it, he’s pressing Rose down into the seat, being urged there by her with equal force. His foot is up against the wall of the door, and their legs are bent awkwardly against the seat and one another. The Renault isn't really big enough for the two of them to stretch out in. It's cramped at best, but for this it will do just perfectly-- Jack would rather die than have to leave this car now. At the moment, it's the most comfortable he's ever been. 

One by one, the clothes come off. Rose’s cool hands slip under his coat and push it off his shoulders. His lips are on hers when he removes his hands to take off his suspenders. His fingers pull and work at the buttons and hooks holding her dress together, and hers are at the buttons on his shirt, tugging them open. Rose takes his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his trousers and pulls it off his arms, so that he’s half-bare.

Rose tugs her dress down her body to pool on the floor by her ankles, and crosses her arms to pull her chemise over her head. His lips move downward once that is gone, pulsing over her neck and throat, the way he had in the boiler room not so long ago, and descending further to her bare breasts. He kisses them the way he’d wanted to as he drew her-- his tongue tracing her rosy nipples, feeling they way they pebble at his touch, how she quivers under his hands, and suddenly he needs more of her.

Rose’s drawers are made of soft, white silk, trimmed in pale blue lace and finely made. Jack thinks they look far better where they are, lying discarded next to her dress, and his shirt and coat, than they did on her. Not that he’s paying much attention. He’s far too preoccupied with  _ her--  _ Jack’s hand is at the juncture of her thighs, his lips are on her lips and her neck and breasts, and Rose’s hands are clutching at his hair. It’s almost painful, how tight she holds to him, but it’s a pain that he relishes with every bone in his body. His thumb strokes over her damp, dewy skin, at a part that makes a blush rise to her cheeks and a gasp escape her lips. His other hand combs through the hair on her head-- red hair, like what’s between her legs. Rose tugs him up for a striking kiss, and Jack slips his fingers inside her.

She keens and moans at his touch, tilting her hips up for more, pressing closer. It’s all the insistence that he needs to know he’s doing something right. One day, he’ll take the time to taste her there, to know her more intimately and thoroughly than he can with just this, but that dream will have to wait. Rose’s movements grow more erratic, shaking, until her tensions peak and she comes apart with a breathless sigh, or a moan-- Jack doesn’t know what to call it, only that he loves that noise, and he wants to get her to make it again as soon as possible.

_ This  _ is how he wants to draw her-- sweating and breathless, flushed with ecstasy and eyes washed in love. He wants to draw the way her legs wrap around his hips and how her toes curl and how her hands clench. Jack wants it on paper, from the shape of her face as she peaks to the way her arms fold around him. It’s not a drawing he could ever show to anyone except her, not the way her portrait earlier had been, though he hadn't liked the thought of leaving it for Cal. It would be only for his own enjoyment if he did. Maybe one day, he’ll be able to draw that picture from just his memory.

He takes the opportunity to pull off his shoes, and helps Rose with hers, as she’s still a bit woozy, but quickly rousing and growing more impatient for his affections. She undoes the buttons on his trousers one by one, shoving them down his hips. Jack pulls them all the way down, and his underwear comes off too.

There’s nothing between them now, in a way that hadn’t existed before. There’s no fiancé, no overbearing mother, no difference between class or wealth. There’s no air between their bodies, all their clothes are gone too, even that heavy engagement ring has been tossed away somewhere. It’s just her and him. Just Jack and Rose.

_ I love her. _

He doesn’t say it. But he thinks, thinks Rose knows anyway.

Jack takes a moment to ask-- with his eyes-- if she’s sure about this. He waits, watching her, but he knows that she understands what he means with his gaze. Even now, he can’t quite believe that this is what she wants; that Rose has chosen him.

Rose kisses him once more. It’s all the answer he needs. Jack’s arms tighten around her, breathing in the scent of her skin, a mix of sweat and perfume. Her hands press against the skin of his back, over his shoulder blades and neck, urging him up against her. Her legs wrap around him again, pushing his hips into hers. She whimpers through their kiss at even the barest touch, and Jack’s already shivering. The air feels cool on his skin, but Jack is burning up with Rose.

He lifts his head, parting their lips. Rose is gasping underneath him, chest heaving. Her eyes are more black than blue when she looks up at him. Jack’s palm moves downward, landing on the seat. It’s slick under his skin, from sweat, or steam or something else, but it’s just enough purchase to slip inside her.

Jack can tell immediately that it’s not comfortable for her-- her face twists in an unusual way, a pained way. She breathes a gasp, eyes flitting wildly all over the place, from his face to the walls of the car or between them. Her body is tense underneath him, around him. But of course it’s uncomfortable-- she’s never done this before. He’s the first that Rose has let here, and Jack won’t let it be a bad experience. Though all his muscles are dying to move forward, he makes himself stay still. He reaches up, caressing her face, waiting in the silence. Rose’s hair is damp with sweat, so he brushes the strands out of her eyes with a gentle touch. Her skin is soft under his fingers, slick and smooth. Even if she wanted to stop here and now, Jack knows that he’d still want to stay in this car with her.

He asks if she’s alright. Jack’s gaze travels over her face, searching for more signs of pain, and there are-- the set of her mouth, the furrow of her brow and the wide set of her eyes. Her heart is pulsing rapidly under him. Below, she flutters, stretching around him, growing used to the feeling. It makes his breath hitch.

Rose tips her head back against the seat, watching the ceiling. Her lips purse as she moves, shifting her hips into a different position. One of her hands slides down to grasp his bare hip. With a swallow, she nodded, still unable to catch her breath. “I’m alright.” He’s skeptical of her assurances, but he can see it in her face that the pain isn’t so bad as it was right away. Jack can feel in the relaxed set of her body that she’s intent on continuing with this, that she’s getting used to how  _ this _ feels. “I’ll be fine. You can move, Jack…” Insistent, her hands push into his back, keeping him tight against her. He leans down to kiss her-- soft at first, the way this had all started. In a steady motion, he rocks his hips into hers.

Time passes-- minutes, seconds. He can’t keep track. In this world, with Rose, time doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Her kiss is what matters. The way she looks at him, and touches him is what matters. The way she  _ feels _ \-- _ that’s  _ what matters. The way they love each other is what matters.

They work together like they had on the dance floor, but different,  _ more.  _ Like then, all it takes is a touch for the other to know what they need-- a tilt or the hips, or a hand on the small of his back. Rose’s ephemeral breaths turn into pleased keening noises in the back of her throat, and with more insistent motions, delicious moans. Their pace quickens as one, both of them needing more of the other, their hips moving together as one. Jack isn’t sure where he ends and where she begins. Rose whispers his name in his ear, breathless, and he whispers hers back. The steam on the windows is so thick that it’s dripping in places. It’s almost foggy in here, sweat getting in his eyes.

She’s close, he can feel it, the way she quivers under his touch, asking for more when she holds him close and tilts her hips up to meet his. Jack thrusts deep in her, and she reaches the precipice-- body clenched in every place, shaking and eyes slammed shut, clinging to him like she might float away otherwise. Above his head, there’s a noise-- her hand is pressed flat against the steamed glass, flexing. After a moment, it slips back down to them, and when Jack finishes inside seconds later, he thinks that, yes, he’d like to draw that, too.

Jack knows what kind of stupid look is on his face right now, as he looks up at the woman he went and fell in love with. He knows Rose won't laugh at him for it-- won’t judge, though he’s sure she knows exactly what the look on his face means. It’s a breathless look of clumsy affection-- his hair is in his face, he’s covered in sweat and exhausted-- and of utter adoration. It also conveys sincere hope that she hasn’t found their exertions disappointing; Jack knows it was wonderful for him, and he’d spend the rest of his life making love to her just to get it right if he could. More than anything, his expression is one of inexperience, because Rose is the first girl he’s ever done this with.

Not to say that he’d never done  _ anything _ , or that he didn’t know more than Rose in this matter. Even at fifteen, girls had whispered after him in Chippewa Falls. He'd been in brothels, though only to draw. He could flirt, sure. And Jack had kissed plenty of girls, been involved in some fairly heavy petting. He knew how to touch girls, had known his own touch, too. But he never did  _ this _ with another person-- one of them always stopped it. Even with his pretty face, Jack was too poor for anything serious with those girls, and they knew it too well to risk a reputation on him. Rose didn't care about that though. Besides, Jack would never have felt right about anything more with someone he didn't really care about-- the way he cared about Rose. The way he knew she cared about him.

Maybe he ought to be a bit more embarrassed that there hasn’t been anyone before her-- men usually engaged in such activities at brothels or elsewhere, marriage regardless. Jack hadn't taken that path, though he wasn't truly inexperienced the way Rose was. But he didn't regret the choice he'd made. He was the first to have Rose and she was the first to have him. Jack was glad that it was with her, and not someone he wasn't attached to. Someone he didn't love.

“You’re trembling,” Rose whispers. Her delicate fingers slide through his hair, their touch gentle against his scalp. Her heartbeat is pounding still against his chest, but steadily slowing back to a normal speed. Jack would love for nothing more than to go to the stars again, but at the moment, laying here with Rose, he's happy. He’s warm and safe, wrapped up in her arms and still inside her. He’s home.

It’s unbearably hot in the car, but he doesn’t care to move even an inch at the moment. The glass windows are fogged up, a lone handprint against the back from when Rose’s hand had flown up there in the heat of passion. They’ve made blankets of their clothes-- his coat and her dress, but he’s certain that the seat of the car must be stained. “Don’t worry,” Jack breathes. Rose’s eyes are soft and full of love-- it’s almost more than he can bear. “I’ll be alright.” He leans forward and offers her a kiss. Rose takes it gladly, and when their lips part, Jack lets his head rest on her chest. His ear is between her breasts, over her heart. Her fingers are still in his hair, and Jack doesn’t care.

They rest on the back of the car until they’re ready for more, listening to the sound of one another breathing. That sound, Jack thinks, is one that he could listen to day in and day out. He could wake up listening to just the sound of Rose breathing, and the feel of the heartbeat in her chest. He could go to sleep with it at night. He’d be glad to spend his life with that sound in the background, so long as she was there with him.

His mother’s wedding ring is inside his shoe, tied to a lace where no one would notice it. Not even Rose, and she’s gotten him undressed. He doesn’t want to leave her when the ship docks. How can Jack possibly leave her now, when she’s become his heart?

He doesn’t have much, he’d never pretended he did. But if Rose is willing, he plans on sharing his life with her. Maybe now wasn’t the right time, but it would be soon. Jack is fairly certain of how she’ll answer. Though they may only be twenty and seventeen, may have only known each other for three days, he knows that this decision is right.

* * *

He hasn't let go of her hand since they left the car, even now, stumbling and busting a gut with laughter. They’d escaped to the cool evening air above decks, a reprieve from anyone still chasing them and the sweltering heat of the boiler room and lower levels. Jack brought Rose around to face him with a tug of his hand. “Did you see those guys’ faces?” He asked breathlessly, pulling Rose to arms reach. He’s shaking with laughter, but he’s never been happier. “Did you see…” 

Rose grew serious again, the way she had in the Renault not so long ago, still and quiet, with a burning certainty in her eyes. She gently puts her hand to his lips, to keep him from talking. Jack doesn’t fight it, not that he would. She’s obviously got something she wants to say. Rose's eyes are all over his face, blue and brilliant. Jack waits. He’s never been this happy with anyone else. He’s never belonged with anyone else the way they belong together. And Jack will be damned before he loses her.

Rose’s fingers are in his hair, hand on his cheek, making his heart pound. He wants to pull her closer, keep touching her and holding her like this for the rest of his life. She fits perfectly in his arms; Jack never wants to let her go. Finally, Rose manages to speak. What she says makes him want to crow the way he had at the bow of the ship only two days ago, makes his heart race even faster. “When this ship docks, I’m getting off with you,” 

It’s a promise. And Jack can tell by the look in her eyes that it’s one she has every intention of keeping. Half the time he still can’t believe that Rose wants him the way she does. But she does. Rose wants him, and this life, and to be together in it the same way as Jack. And she’s made her choice, she’s chosen it and him. Jack could kiss her then, just for that. He believes her, when she says that she'll get off with him.

“This is crazy,” Jack says. They’d only met two days ago when he pulled Rose off the back of a ship. Now they were running off together, in love and throwing all the other plans to the wind. He knows it’s crazy, knows he can’t offer her anything, knows they’ve got the world against them in this. But more than any of that, Jack knows the joy he’s feeling, and that he’s never gotten it anywhere else. He knows he loves Rose, and that they’ll make it. He knows how right and perfect it feels when they’re together. Jack won’t dare throw that away.

Rose echoes his sentiments, finding it just as unbelievable as he does. “I know,” She laughs brightly, beaming up at him and shaking her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. That’s why I trust it.”

She’s breathtaking in her beauty then. Maybe it’s because for the first time, she really looks like she’s free. She’s happy, and sure of what she wants. Jack could look at Rose like this forever.

Before another moment passes, Rose yanks his head down to hers for a kiss. It starts out as one, but she won't let him pull away and Jack doesn't want to. He presses close to Rose, devouring her. He can't get enough. He smells that Lily of the Valley perfume on her, and sweat, and something uniquely Rose that he smiles all through her kisses even as they get carried away. Jack can barely breath, but he doesn’t care. Rose’s arms are around him, and it feels warm and right and like he’s home. The ship hasn’t even docked yet, but Jack knows that he’s found his home.

* * *

He should have known something was wrong the minute he’d returned Rose’s rooms. A part of him wishes that he could’ve talked her into leaving her family behind, but he knows that Rose never would have agreed to it, no matter what problems were between her and her mother. Still-- he should have known. Should have been wiser. Should have known that it wouldn’t be so simple as running away with Rose, should have known that Cal and Rose’s mother would never let it be that easy.

But when the steward searches in his coat pocket, and pulls out that necklace, the one that Rose asked him to draw her wearing, with the heart shaped diamond, it feels like it’s all falling to pieces in his hands. All of it’s there, just crumbling to pieces in his hands, as Cal says that yes, that was what was stolen, and Rose is looking at him like  _ that _ .

“This is _horseshit!”_ He cries. He didn’t take that damned necklace! _What would I even do with it?_ _Rose was with me the whole time, she’d have known,_ Jack thinks. _She has to know._ “Don’t you believe it, Rose. Don’t!”

Finally, her voice comes, soft and full of disbelief, saying, “He couldn’t have,” Her wonderful eyes are clouded over, not really looking at anything, not at him, or Cal, or the necklace. Just… lost in the fog. She says it more like she refuses to believe it than that she can’t, and Jack isn’t sure that’s a good thing.

“Of course he could. It’s easy enough for a professional,” Cal mutters quietly to her. His words don’t seem to assure her in one direction or another.

The master at arms has cuffs around Jack’s wrists, and is already trying to take him away from her. He isn’t ready to go yet, and be parted from her. Jack locks his feet in place-- he won’t go, he can’t.  _ Not like this.  _ Not with Rose doubting him.

“But I was with him the whole time, this is absurd.” Rose protests, looking at both him and Cal now.  _ Yes, she was, _ He thinks.  _ Come on, Rose. _ Jack doesn’t even give a damn about the ship sinking then, all that matters is that she believes in him again, trusts him again, doesn’t think he’s used her.

Cal slips around behind her, so the others can’t see, but Jack hears it all the same, “Perhaps he did it while you were putting your clothes back  _ on _ , dear,” He says to Rose, with a cold, disparaging expression.

Jack realizes it then, what Cal did. Because  _ of course, _ Cal would make it about Rose loving Jack and not him. Of course he would, in the absence of anything real to charge him with. Jack hadn’t taken the diamond, and nor had he been within arms reach of any of Cal’s lackeys for them to plant it on him until they returned to first class. Until… Lovejoy. “Real slick, Cal,” He realizes, already turning to Rose.  _ She has to see. She has to know,  _ Jack thinks. “Rose, they put it in my pocket,” He whispers, leaning close to her.

“Shut up!” Cal spits. That’s how he knows he’s right, knows that’s exactly what Cal did.

Lovejoy is at Cal’s side all of a sudden, with a slick smirk on his face. “But it isn’t your pocket, is it, son?” He asks, holding up the coat in his hands. Jack feels his heart sink into his stomach. “Property of A.L. Ryerson,” He reads from the tag on the coat. 

“That  _ was _ reported stolen today,” The Master at arms sighs, looking at the coat, and yes, it was, because Jack stole it. And he knows what Rose will think. She won’t believe him.

“I just borrowed it, I was gonna return it,” He begs, turning to Rose. She has to believe him. She has to, at the very least, even if no one else does. He needs her to trust him.

But she’s looking at him like that again, in the way that crushes his heart, and he knows that she won’t. 

“Oh, an honest thief,” Cal laughs, smiling brightly, the slimy bastard, like there’s nothing wrong with what he’s done. “We have an honest thief, here, gentleman,”

“You know I didn’t do this, Rose,” Jack says to her, straining towards the woman he loves with every muscle in his body, even though he knows it’s fruitless. Even though they’re already dragging him from the room, prying him away from her. “You know it. Don’t you believe them, Rose. You know it. You know I didn’t do it, Rose. You know I didn’t do it. Rose.  _ Rose! _ You know I didn’t do it!  _ You know me!” _

* * *

“Rose,” Jack says, to get her attention as she searches through the desk drawer. She twists to look at him-- hair mussed and face flushed. Her dress is half soaked, and she must be freezing. He’s not even sure how she found him, but it’s a miracle. It’s stupid to aks now, but he’s just got to. “How did you find out I didn’t do it?”

The silence between them holds for a moment, heavy and awkward. “I didn’t,” Rose finally says, breathless. “I just realized I already knew,” Her voice is full of affection as she answers.  _ Every minute I think I can’t possibly love her more than I already do,  _ He thinks,  _ But then I go and prove myself wrong all over again.  _

“Keep looking!” Jack insists, sending Rose shuffling through the desk again. Unless they find that key, with him trapped in this room and the water rising, he doesn’t have much time.

* * *

“Fabri, Tommy, give me a hand here!” He shouts, pulling on the bench bolted to the floor. It’s heavy, and doesn’t come easy. Rose is shouting for people to move to the side behind him, and on the other side of the gate. The floorboards creak under their pressure, and then splinter. The bench comes free.

“Put that down!” The steward demands, pointing at them like they're angry children in need of a scolding. He and his friends have got the bench lifted between them, to break down the gate, and the people on the other side have obviously figured it out. “Put that down! Stop that!” Jack is through with listening to what they’ve got to say-- with what anyone has to say about third class people. He’s tired of being treated like less than human because he doesn’t have money. He won’t lay down and die for the first class just because he’s poor. He won’t let Rose die down here because she was the only one human enough to come save him. 

_ “One!” _ Jack counted. The bench is heavy, but he hardly notices it now. All he can think about is Rose-- how much he loves her.  _ I’d do anything for her.  _ He’d saved her the first night they met, and she’d saved him tonight. They’d beaten the odds, they’d somehow fallen in love, despite having everything against them, and Jack won’t,  _ can’t,  _ let that end now because the other people on the ship were content with letting anyone with a steerage ticket die.  _ “Two!” _ His anger is a storm inside him, and it’s unstoppable now. It’s what’s got him fighting for Rose, what made him pick up this bench, what’s going to make him break through the gate and the steward if they had to. He’s got to make sure that  _ she  _ gets out of this alive, even if he doesn’t. If Rose died now, it would destroy him. Come hell or highwater, Jack will protect her till his heart stops beating.  _ “Three!” _

They surge forward, smashing the bench into the gate-- it rattles, and almost gives way, but if they want out, they’ll have to go another time. “Again!” He shouts. 

The doors break open when they ram into them this time, rattling to the floor and bent broken. Jack is the first one out, “Let’s go,” Jack cries. They’ve got to get to the surface as fast as they can. “Let’s go, Rose.” Tommy helped her over the wreckage behind him. Jack is dimly aware that the steward is shouting that they can’t go up, but he doesn’t care. He can hardly hear a thing over the pounding of his own heart.

Rose takes his hand and walks along with him. They’re holding onto each other so tight that it should be painful, but it’s not. Her hand is warm in his, and feels right. Even though they’re fighting for survival, and he knows that if he loses her, his own life won’t matter, Jack tries to cling to that feeling. The rightness, the sense of belonging and  _ home  _ when he’s with Rose-- it’s what’s keeping him going. He’ll do anything to keep it.

* * *

“I’m not going without you,”

Jack feels his heart drop into his stomach. “No, you have to go.  _ Now.” _

“No, Jack.”

“Get in the boat, Rose,” He insists.  _ I need her safe, _ Jack thinks.  _ I need her off this ship. _

“No, Jack,” Rose says again, her eyes half filled with tears.

“Yes. Get on the boat,” Jack tries to push her away, towards the lifeboat growing fuller by the second. They didn’t have time to argue, not about this. Not with  _ Titanic _ going out from under them.

“Yes,  _ get _ on the boat, Rose,” Says a voice coming from behind him. It’s the voice of Rose’s fiancé. “My god, look at you. You look a fright,” Cal says, looking at Rose with concern. He pulls the blanket off her shoulders and replaces it with the dark coat he wore, shoving the blanket into Jack’s arms with a touch more force than necessary. “Here. Put this on. Come,” Cal too is pushing her towards the boat, away from him, with a hand on her head.

Jack shoves them apart, taking his own time with Rose. He won’t let Cal take what may well be their last moments together. “Go on, I’ll get the next one,” He insists. Rose has to believe that Jack will make it out of this, or… she’ll never leave the ship.

_ “No,” _ Rose says, as stubborn as ever. “Not without you,”

“I’ll be alright,” Jack tells her. Anything to get her to leave. “Listen. I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor, alright? Don’t worry about me. Now go on, get on.” He doesn’t like being parted from Rose anymore than she does. But what can he do? They weren’t letting men on the lifeboats.

“I have an arrangement with an officer on the other side of the ship,” Cal says, choosing that moment to interrupt them. “Jack and I can get off safely. Both of us.” He says, giving Jack a hard look for a moment. Jack doesn’t believe his ears for a moment.  _ Why would Cal help me?  _ But it’s clear that Cal isn’t doing this to help  _ Jack. _ He looks positively green at the thought. 

Jack doesn’t trust Cal, but he doesn’t balk at his offer either.  _ Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  _ Besides, what happened to him didn’t matter so long as Rose was safe, and they still had to convince her to leave. “See? I’ve got my own boat to catch,” He tells her.

“Go, Go on, hurry,” Cal insists, looking from Rose to the lifeboat behind them. “They’re almost full.”

“Step aboard, Miss,” An officer says, grabbing Rose from his arms and helping her into the boat. “Step aboard, Please.”

“Go,” Jack begs her once more, as he too helps her into the boat as gently as he can, hoping she doesn’t fight on this anymore.

Then Rose is in the boat, leaning over the side to keep her hand in his, keep touching him for just a few moments more. The same officer who helped her into the boat is there, demanding he step back and tearing their hands apart.  _ “Lower away!” _

_ Am I doing the right thing?  _ Jack doesn’t know. Could it ever be right to be separated from Rose? Every inch of distance that grows between them feels like a knife in his heart. Rose’s eyes are on him again, gazing upwards.  _ Tell me this is right,  _ He imagines she’s thinking. Jack knows that he’s thinking it. How can it be right, when she’s looking at him the way she looked at him hours ago, when she thought he stole that necklace? Like he’s betrayed her?

“You’re a good liar,” Cal says at his side.

Jack doesn’t look at him-- he wants to savor every moment of Rose’s face that he can. “Almost as good as you,” He responds. “There’s no uh… there’s no arrangement, is there?” Finally, does he glance in the other man’s direction, with a furtive look out of the corner of his eyes. A part of him doesn’t want the answer.

“Oh, there is,” Cal says. “Not that you’ll benefit much from it.” He turns to Jack, with a clenched jaw and steel in his eyes. “I always win, Jack. One way or another.”

_ I’m going to die. _

Maybe not right away. But with the lifeboats not letting men on, the odds weren’t good. His best shot was to ride the  _ Titanic  _ down into the water and hope he didn’t die before the lifeboats could return to search for survivors, and… he didn’t want to think about that. And that was  _ if  _ Cal didn’t kill him first.  _ I’m going to die. _

He looks down at Rose again, because if he’s going to die… he wants to appreciate the view before he does. He wants to be able to remember her face as he goes. He wants to remember the feel of her skin, and her kiss, the warmth of her body and the shade of her eyes. Remember how she smelled of Lily of the Valley, of  _ home. _

He nods down at her, but he isn’t sure if it’s to assure Rose or himself. He thinks, feeling the burn in his eyes, that he might be crying. How long has it been since he’s cried?  _ Forever, _ a voice in his head answers. 

_ I’m going to die, _ He thinks.  _ I’m never going to see Rose again. _ Never touch her again, never kiss her again, never ask her to be his wife.

Her face is cast in golden light of the fireworks going off behind them, and he thinks,  _ She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. _

And then Rose is moving. He knows what she’s going to do only half a second before she does, only just in time to witness her fling herself off the lifeboat for the side of the ship. “Rose!” 

“Stop her!” Cal shouts at the same moment. But they can’t-- hands are already there, pulling her back onto the ship, rather than pushing her back onto a lowering lifeboat. They’re helpless bystanders, watching in horror.

“Rose, what’re you doing?! No!” She’s gone, out of sight. All Jack can think is, _I have to find her, I have to find her, I have to find her--_ He’s running to her, running to the staircase. Jack doesn’t even know how he knows to go there, he just _knows,_ he _knows--_ _“Rose!”_

She’s in his arms again, where she belongs, where she fits perfectly.  _ I never should have let her go, _ Jack thinks to himself.  _ Why did I let her go? _ Never has he been alternately so furious and so relieved, so in love. “You’re so stupid! Why’d you do that, huh?” Jack demands, asking her between kisses, with her tears on his face. “You’re so stupid, Rose! Why did you do that?!  _ Why?!” _

Rose answers him, still crying, with a hand brushing over his cheek and only a few words.  _ Their words.  _ “You jump, I jump. Right?”

He can’t stop the smile that comes, wouldn’t dare to try.  _ She’s impossible, _ Jack wants to laugh. He doesn’t think anyone has ever loved him enough to do what Rose did. To jump back on a sinking ship for him. “Right,” Jack breathes, teary eyed. He kisses her again.

“Oh god,” Rose sighs, locked in their embrace. “I couldn’t go. I couldn’t go, Jack,”

“It’s alright, we’ll think of something,” He assures her. He won’t make her leave again. They’ll make it as long as they’re together.

“At least I’m with you,” She says.

“We’ll think of something,”

When Jack sees Cal coming at them and pointing a gun, the warmth in his chest turns to ice.

* * *

They’re at the stern of the ship, clinging to the railing for dear life, the angle of the deck beneath their feet growing steeper by the second. Being here is the best chance they have of making it out of this. Here, they will stay out of the water the longest, because the water will be what kills them, if they don’t drown or get crushed first. His hold on the railing tightens, with his other arm around Rose, holding her against him.

“Jack,” Rose says below him, with fear in her eyes. “This is where we first met.” Jack presses a kiss to her forehead, and pulls her close. Yes. It’s where they met. It’s where Rose tried to kill herself, where he talked her off the other side of the railing.

He won’t let it be where they die. 

He  _ cannot  _ let this be where they die.

Then everything is falling.

The ship is breaking underneath them, splintering in half, unable to bear the weight of the rising stern. With a mighty groan, it breaks, and their part of the ship crashes back into the sea. It nearly jostles them free, and for the first time, Jack is thankful that he didn’t climb to the other side of the railing before, because the fall might have killed them. The place where he kissed her for the first time is gone, Jack realizes, swallowed up by the blackness to never see the light of day again. The place where he made love to her for the first time is gone as well, and soon all the rest will be, too. 

What’s left of the ship is already rising again beneath their feet, faster than before. Jack realizes that if they’re going to move, now is the time. On this side, the railing might hook them and drag them down, but not if they get over. “We have to move,” He tells her, already climbing over to the other side. The metal of the railing is cold and hard against his shins, his knees. “Give me your hand, I’ll pull you over,” He insists, so frantic that he’s hardly even aware of what he’s saying to her, only that she needs to be on the same side as him. “Come on. Give me your hand, give me your hand!”

“I’ve got you,” He says, pulling her over. “I won’t let go. Come on, I’ve got you.” They’re the same words he said to her that night, the night they met, when she was on his side of the railing and he was on hers. When her hand was in his, the way it was now, and he was fighting just to keep holding on to her, to keep her alive.

She’s over the railing, at his side where she belongs. He puts his arm around her, not just to keep her safe, but because he needs the assurance himself.

_ I won’t let this be where we die. _

“What’s happening, Jack?!” Rose cries, as the ship rises higher and higher into the air.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” He says. Things like this were never supposed to happen. How could all this have happened?

The ship stops. 

“Hold on!” He shouts. They must be a hundred feet in the air. Below them is nothing but swirling blackness and those already in the water. Surely they’re screaming at them, but Jack can’t hear it over the noise. The voices of the damned, those already dead even though their bodies don’t know it yet.

“Jack!”

“This is it!” He cries, as the ship goes down, being pulled out from under them. “Hold on!” He shouts, holding tighter to her and the railing. “The ship is gonna suck us down,” Jack tells her, watching the black waves draw closer. “Take a deep breath when I say. Kick for the surface, and keep kicking. Do not let go of my hand. We’re gonna make it, Rose. Trust me!”

She has to trust him. He has to trust her. If they don’t, they won’t survive.

Jack isn’t ready to die. He isn’t ready for  _ her  _ to die.

_ I won’t let this be where we die. _

“I trust you!” Rose shouts, as the water rises. They’ve only got seconds. Somehow, it’s not enough time.

The water grows closer, only feet below them, and rising, rising. It’s inches away. It laps at his fingers, at the soles of his shoes. “Ready? Ready! Now!”

They breathe.

The darkness surrounds them.

* * *

_ When he finally surfaces, it’s hell. And what’s worse, it’s a hell where he can’t find Rose. He’s surrounded in the darkness, one of hundreds of people flailing around in the water. And he can’t find Rose, can’t see her. Jack knows her hand was in his as they went under, as they kicked for the surface, and then she was gone, and there was nothing. _

_ Until he hears her cries, calling his name. Jack doesn’t know how he could have possibly heard her voice over everyone else crying out, but somehow he does, and somehow he’s able to make it over to where her voice was coming from. After what feels like forever, he finally lays eyes on her, and he doubts he’s ever been so furious a day in his life. Rose is half drowned already, and being pushed further under water by a man hoping to use her to keep himself afloat.  _ **_Like a fucking buoy,_ ** _ He thinks, so enraged he could easily kill the man. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’ll die before the night is through anyway. _

_ “Rose!” He shouts, swimming over to her as fast as his body allows. “Get off her! Get off her!” Jack shouts. He tries to pull the man off of Rose at first, but he won’t let go, so Jack hits him. It’s a bit odd to throw a punch without any way to support it, any bracing for his feat, and it’s clumsy. At first the man is only disoriented, but then Jack hits him again, and again, until he’s out cold and Rose can wrest herself free. Jack knows that the man will die faster than the rest of them, being out cold, will probably never wake up, but he can’t bring himself to care. He tried to kill Rose, and for that he deserves what he gets. _

_ “Rose!” Jack cries again, trying to be heard over all the shouting. There’s so many screaming voices around them, so many frightened people.  _ **_We have to get away from them,_ ** _ He thinks.  _ **_Before someone else tries to use her for her lifejacket._ **

_ “Jack!” She says, making her way over to him. Cal’s dark wool coat is still around her, but wet it won’t do Rose any good-- only to weigh her down. _

_ “Swim, Rose!” Jack shouts. “I need you to swim!” They go together, as fast as they can, as well as they can. Jack isn’t even sure where they’re headed, only that it will be a little safer out of the thick of the bodies. “Keep swimming!” He says, though it’s not easy-- not with shoes on, not in water so crowded as this, so bottomless and cold. And then he sees it, floating there in the water. It’s a miracle no one else has seen it, or climbed on it already. It may well save them. He’ll do anything to make sure that Rose gets on it. _

_ “It’s so cold!” She shudders, trying to keep up with him.  _ **_It is,_ ** _ Jack thinks. He’s never been so cold in all his life, not even when he fell through that thin ice when he was just a boy. He’d caught pneumonia after that, and frostbite. He’d been sick in bed for weeks, and was only in the water for a minute or two.  _ **_Will the same thing happen if I make it out alive?_ ** _ He wonders.  _

_ “Swim, Rose!” Jack insists, leading her in the direction of the door. “Come on. Here,” He breathes, having reached the door, but Rose is still behind him. He puts his hand on the door, steadying it. Claiming it. “Keep swimming,” He encourages her, waiting. She draws closer, almost in arm’s reach now. “Come on. Here, get on it. Get on it,” Rose is there finally, and grabs hold and pushes her body up on the door bit by bit. _

_ Jack tries, when she’s mostly on, to get on himself. He knows that he won’t last long in the water, the same as anyone else. Few people would be drowning tonight-- it was the cold that was the killer. The door tips under the weight of them both, throwing them both back into the water. Jack holds the door still while she climbs back on.“Come on, Rose. Get on it,” He tells her, and then, “Stay on, Rose,” _

_ The door will only float one of them.  _

_ The thought bites at his heart, sharp and yet somehow also a dull ache, a steady realization.  _

_ “There’s just enough for this lady,” Jack insists, as a man starts to swim over to them. He’s just as terrified as everyone else is right now-- none of the people with tickets on Titanic were ready to die. But the door wouldn’t hold Jack and Rose, and this man surely weighs more than he does. “Or we’ll push it under,” He’s not willing to give up Rose’s place on it to save a stranger. _

_ “Let me try at least,” The man says as he treads water, breathing hard. “Or I’ll die soon.” _

_ Jack warns, “You’ll die sooner if you come any closer,” He will. Jack means it.  _ **_Rose has to live. She has to._ ** _ He’s been through too much with her to see her die now. It matters little that more than one life could be saved by the door-- Jack won’t chance her life on it. _

_ The man nods, understanding sinking in. “Yes,” he nodded quietly. “Yes. I see. Good luck to you, then,” He calls to them, swimming in the other direction and resigning himself to his fate. “God bless,” _

_ “Keep movin’, Rose,” Jack insists breathlessly when they’re alone-- as alone as they can be, right now. “Keep movin’. We’ll be alright, now. We’ll be alright now,” He says, holding her hand tight in his, and resting as much of his weight on the door as he dares, just enough to keep him afloat without effort. He wishes he could believe his own words. _

_ An officer is whistling, shouting about boats. “The boats are coming back for us, Rose. Hold on just a little bit longer. They had to- they had to row away for the suction. But now they’ll be coming back,” He assures her, squeezing Rose’s hand. Her fingers are like ice. _

_ He’s going to die. Jack knows it now, like a fact that a child learns in school. If the boats don’t come back, he’s going to die. _

_ Jack isn’t ready to die. He’s made promises to Rose, about things they’d do together when their voyage was over. But then, he thinks it’s alright. Because Rose is safe. He can’t think of a better way to die than keeping her safe. _

“It’s getting quiet,” Rose says, her voice soft and weak. Almost like she’s tired rather than cold enough to die. And she’s right. There’s less noise now than there was before-- ten minutes ago, twenty. Jack doesn’t know. Time is meaningless.

“It’s just gonna take a- a couple of minutes… to get the boats organised,” Jack tells her. “I don’t know about you, but… I intend to w- write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this,” Humour is his first defence, always. A part of him wants to think the worst of the people on the boats-- whispers in his ear that they’ve been left for dead, and aren’t coming back for them. Jack won’t let himself listen to that voice. Someone has to be coming. Someone has to. They wouldn’t not even try to come back for them. He won’t let Rose give up hope.

“I love you, Jack.”

He almost doesn’t realize what she’s said at first, but then he does.  _ She loves me, _ He thinks.  _ She loves me. _ She’s never told him before, but he’s known all the same. And on any other occasion this would be happy. But Rose has chosen to say this here, and now, and true though it may be, Jack knows it’s because she believes they’re going to die.

He picks up his head, and looks right into her eyes. “Don't you do that,” He says. “Don't you say your goodbyes,” Jack shakes his head. He refuses to believe that they’re dead yet, that  _ she’s _ dead yet. He  _ needs _ her to survive, with every fibre of his being. “Not yet. Do you understand me?” Jack asks, holding her hand tighter in his.

“I'm so cold.” Rose says-- her voice is shaking, the same way his had moments ago, when he’d spoken. They’re cold enough that they can’t even speak clearly.

“Listen, Rose,” He says. He needs to say this now, while he still can, before he’s too cold to even stay awake. He needs her to know… needs her to promise him. When a boat came for them, Rose would still be alive. Cold, but alive. He might not be. His life is numbered in minutes, now. There’s nothing he can do, no way to save himself. All he has is the hope that the boats return in time. But if they don’t, he needs to know that Rose won’t choose to die here with him. She has to live on, even if he doesn’t. He won’t live without her, no matter how hypocritical it is to ask it of her.  _ How can I live without her, when she’s my heart? _

“You're gonna get out of here,” Jack tells her, his breath rising as steam from his lips. “You're gonna go on. And you're gonna make lots of babies, and you're gonna watch them grow. You're gonna die an old... an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Not like this, do you understand me?”

Jack can’t help but mourn all those things-- mourn that he will never see Santa Monica with her, mourn that he will never see her grow old. He mourns for his Mother’s wedding ring, which is still tied to his shoelace, that he will never get to give her, that Rose will never even know about. He even mourns for the children they will never have together, because  _ Damn,  _ he just knows they would have made beautiful babies.

Rose’s silence is all too telling. She still doesn’t think she’ll make it. “I can't feel my body.” Is all she can bring herself to say.

He won’t accept her silence on this matter-- he needs her promise. “Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me…” He says, through the trembling of his voice and the cold. If he could go back in time, before he was on  _ Titanic _ , he’d still board, even knowing what he knows now, that the ship was doomed. He doesn’t regret his gamble that day even a little. With that gamble, he fell in love. “It brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful,”  _ She has to know,  _ He thinks, pulling another arm up on the door to take her hand.  _ She has to know that I love her, by now.  _ “You must-- you must do me this honor. You must promise me that you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens…” He pleads, “No matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Rose... and never let go of that promise.”

“I promise.” Rose tells him, her grip on his hand almost crushing. 

He pushes again, “Never let go.” 

“I'll never let go, Jack.” She answers, a certainty in her voice that he hasn’t heard before. “I'll never let go,”

He cracks a weak, shaky smile at her. He has what he wanted, now, has her promise. And now he can rest. Jack kisses her hand once more, and closes his eyes. If he’s going to die… at least he’s dying for her. At least his life will serve some purpose.  _ I can die for Rose DeWitt Bukater. _

Through the dark, Jack hears her singing that song he taught her what feels like forever ago. Her singing is the last thing he hears before he lets the soft arms of sleep take him. “Come, Josephine, in my flying machine… and it’s up she goes… up she goes…”

* * *

When Jack wakes, everything is blurry at first. After a moment, his vision clears. There are no windows, but several white lights overhead in the ceiling. They're on a ship, he can tell by the gentle rocking.  _ Did we die and end up back on  _ **_Titanic_ ** _? Could it all have been a nightmare?  _ But that couldn't be. He hadn't been on a bed this soft in years-- he certainly hadn't had one like it on the  _ Titanic _ , so the ship had sunk. If he was dead, Jack was certain he could come up with a better afterlife than this, surrounded by other beds filled with patients.

His body feels stiff-- probably because he hasn't moved in a while. There's a weight on his chest, warm and solid, tucked around him even in such a small space.  _ Rose. _

She's been watching him this entire time, and he hadn't noticed. Her eyes are wide, bright blue and staring intently at him, head resting on his chest. Her skin is almost frighteningly pale.

Jack swallowed. "Where are we?" He asks. He's cold even under the blankets and with her against him, but it's nothing next to the memory of that cold water.

Rose picked her head up to better see him. "It’s the infirmary on the  _ Carpathia _ ," She explains. Jack's arms slip around her waist. "We're safe," And then, with a disparaging look, "You almost died. You had hypothermia.” Her words are short, clipped, to the point. Jack imagines that so soon after it happened, she can't yet put it to words. He can't either.

The last thing he can clearly remember is being in the water. It was colder than anything he'd ever known, colder than even the water he'd fallen into as a boy. They were just floating there in the blackness, Rose safe on the door, his hand clutched tight in hers. Jack had tried to focus on that feeling even as he grew weaker, colder, and more tired. After a while, Jack thinks he just fell asleep to Rose’s singing. He can't remember anything after that until waking up here.

After falling in that water as a child, he'd been sick for days and barely conscious. He hadn't been in the water nearly so long then as he was last night. Rose's eyes tell more about what had happened than she's said, flashing with the memory of fear. If it weren't for her, Jack guesses, he wouldn't be here. But Rose doesn't say that. He doesn't press on the topic now-- she'll tell him about it later, when she's ready. At the moment, Jack is just glad to be  _ alive _ \-- glad he woke up another day, and glad that Rose is a part of it, and will be a part of it for as long as she wants.

At that moment he can't be close enough to her. Jack's arms tighten around her, pressing her body against his. He can feel her heartbeat against his, her tiny breaths warm on his neck. His lips press firm against her forehead in a kiss. "I love you," He whispers. Rose's head is still against his chest, so he can't even see her face when he says it, just the top of her head. Jack hadn't said it last night because he hadn't wanted her to give up hope, even though she told him. But maybe he should have said it-- if things had happened differently that night… he would have died out on the sea, having given his life for Rose. He would have been gone from this world without ever telling her. If his actions weren't already clear enough, he was going to make certain that Rose knew it now.

Rose’s eyes sparkle down on him. Jack's hands slide up her back. He swallows. "I know, Jack." She answers softly, eyes bright with tears. "I love you, too." 

Her kiss isn't hungry or bruising or possessive-- it's none of those things. It's firm and gentle at the same time, soft enough to melt into. It's passionate and heartfelt, Jack's emotions swirling right at surface level. More than anything, this kiss is meant to tell Jack that Rose loves him. He answers in kind-- he won't let another day go by where she doesn't know that she's loved.

His hands brush over her face, up her cheeks and pulling through her hair. The kiss ends, but Jack can feel Rose smiling against his cheek, and he's smiling like an idiot, too. He pecks her on the lips once one-- Rose is pulling on his shirt to keep him there and lengthen the kiss. A laugh escapes him, but he pulls back, because he thinks he sees a nurse glaring at them over Rose's shoulder. They'd better not risk anything further, or they might not allow her to stay in his bed the way she is, which brings up another question.

"What'd you say to get them to let you stay in bed with me?" He smirks. It must've really been something-- after all, she didn’t seem to be sick, and this wasn’t exactly a private room.

Rose blushed shyly, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue that's quite adorable on her. "You think they could drag me away?" She said with a smile. Rose goes on for a bit about using her body heat to keep him warm, making promises to the nurses that there would be no funny business, and it would just be until he woke up. But then a moment later, the full story comes out of her. "I told them we're married,"

It's almost as if his heart stopped the moment she said the words. Jack feels his eyebrows raise in shock, reflexively. Rose waits for a moment. He's still shocked, but it's sunken in after a moment. Under the blankets, he roaches for her hand-- she's still wearing Cal's engagement ring, and now he knows  _ why _ , because it helps prove that they're married. His fingers lace through hers, squeezing gently. It seems to give Rose the courage to go on. “I told them we married on the  _ Titanic _ , and the paperwork is gone. I told them my name is Rose Dawson.”

_ Rose Dawson.  _ Jack's heart races. She's got this sweet expression on her face, waiting for him to say something, like she thinks he might mind. But  _ god,  _ being upset at the idea of being  _ married  _ to Rose, that's exactly the last thing on his mind, because the thought of that makes him happier than he's ever been. Jack swallows. Finally, his words catch up with him, though not nearly as articulate as he'd like-- he'd like to tell her exactly how  _ not upset _ the premise has him. "Alright," he beams, brushing a hand over her face, across her cheekbone. Jack pulls a stray lock of Rose's hair back behind her ear.

His skin is tingling all over, and he's kissing her again and again, light butterfly kisses peppered all over Rose's face, because it's  _ her _ , and she's  _ perfect _ . He can't get enough of her all of a sudden-- can't keep from kissing her even to breathe. Her skin is warm, and even though she doesn't smell anything like Lily of the Valley any more, Jack still knows that in her arms, he's  _ home _ .

All the promises they've made one another come surging to the front of his mind full force. Rose would get off the ship with him. They would go to Santa Monica together. Jack would show her how to ride like a man, through the surf of another ocean. He wants to take her to Chippewa Falls, at least for a visit, to show her home, where he grew up. Maybe see those flowers in bloom if they went at the right time.  _ You're going to go on, and make lots of babies, and die an old lady, warm in your bed.  _ Now they could. They could go on and grow old together, and… Jack wouldn't lie that the idea of making babies with Rose put a thrill in his stomach.

But at the moment he's got something else he needs to promise, or rather ask her, before they can get off the ship and go to Santa Monica or Chippewa Falls, and before they make any babies. Because Jack doesn't have any intention of being parted from Rose again. She'd given the officers his name as hers, to stay together. But that also meant that Rose DeWitt Bukater would be left behind for her family to mourn, and Rose Dawson would take her place. If they were going to stay together under the same name… they might as well make it real. Jack can barely believe he's going to ask her this when they've only known each other for a few days, but it feels  _ right _ . Nothing feels right like he does when he's with Rose, so he doesn't care to stop himself when he breaks their kiss and words start coming out of his mouth. “When the ship docks… do you wanna make it official?”

His mother's wedding ring is in his left shoe, tethered to a shoelace. It lived there, had for several years now, protected in its spot and not in danger of being lost or falling out. It wasn't much, no heavy diamonds like the ring she was wearing. It had been all his father could afford to give his mother, a small band of rose gold with one pearl. Jack can't afford anything else either, with just ten dollars to his name, but he  _ knows _ that the ring is meant for Rose, and that she'll love it.

Silence falls between them. Rose lifts her head, blue eyes looking right into his. Her eyes are beautiful then, stunned and uncertain. Her thoughts must be going a thousand miles a second now, trying to make sense of it, tell if he means it. Jack is perfectly serious, though. He swallows, waiting for an answer. Jack would understand if she said no… it had only been a few days after all. But he can't help but feel right about this. She looks a bit scared-- he doesn't blame her. Rose swallows. “You mean marry you?" She stammers, "For real?”

He lets a laugh escape him. He still can't believe he wants this with her so soon, but he does. "I know it's soon," He explains. Rose's eyes fill with love, so strong it's tangible. “But yeah. We stay together. I’ll make an honest woman of you,” Jack jokes. It earns a smile from Rose, and a small laugh. He doesn't really care about that aspect of things. However, it would be far easier to stay together if people thought they were married. Most people weren't so open minded about being intimate outside of marriage. He swallows, trying to convey his sincerity about this, “If you want, I’m offering,”

Rose's fingers pull through his hair, her eyes bright and sparkling. She looks just like she did before the iceberg hit, when she promised him that they'd get off together. Jack's heart is pounding, and he can barely breathe, but then Rose smiles down at him and says, "Alright," She presses her lips to hers, smiling and laughing at the same time. He still can't breathe, but now it's because of the joy washing through his chest, spreading through his veins and warning him to his toes. "Let's do it," Rose says breathlessly. 

_ We're getting married.  _ Jack laughs through his joy, and kisses her again. Their love was impossible, but  _ somehow _ , it worked when they were together. They were right together. Maybe whatever path was ahead of them wouldn't be easy, but Jack knows that Rose and him will make it together. They'd keep their promises. They'd heal.

When he'd boarded the  _ Titanic _ , Jack had been thrilled to go home, back to the states and to see Chippewa Falls. But with Rose, his arms around her and her lips on hers…  _ With her, I'm already home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here! Just thanks to everyone who has read this, and I look forward to posting more content for this verse in the future, and seeing you all there, too. I have a lot of ideas for little bits of information and things in this verse.
> 
> I have possibly used some idioms that weren't in existence at the time (a picture is worth a thousand words, for example) Beyond that, I didn't do much research. 
> 
> Jack's one legged prostitute-- here, I call her Laure, which to my knowledge is a French name that was fairly popular at the time. I like the little backstory I put in about Jack's time in Paris-- how he worked at a produce store, and spent his money at the brothels to pay for drawing subjects. 
> 
> In the love scene, I do the Jack-is-a-virgin thing. It's cliche. I know. And I wouldn't do it ordinarily, or even bother to bring it up. However, there is exactly one reason why I do here-- the face Jack makes after having sex with Rose. That face cannot belong to a man who has had sex before-- I refuse to believe it. Thus, it's the only reason I even mentioned it here.
> 
> Also, multiple times I refer to the flower Lily of the Valley as being something Jack has nostalgia for, since it grew in his mother's garden. Well, as someone who has actually spent a significant amount of time in Wisconsin, I can tell you that Lily of the Valley does commonly grow in Wisconsin. It's in my grandmother's garden, and is my Mother's favorite flower. So *one ups every other person who's written for Titanic with my actual knowledge and experience in Wisconsin*
> 
> I refer to Jack carrying his Mother's wedding ring in tied on a shoelace multiple times in this. To me, it seems like something he'd take with him, but since he can't wear it, keeping it in his shoe seems more practical. He's less likely to lose it that way. The idea comes from the Hobo in The Polar Express-- anything of real value, you keep in your shoes. I also say that it's made of Rose Gold and a pearl. The silver-and-sapphires combination is one that's all too common in writing, and as much as that would fit them, I think this fits Jack and Rose better. Rose Gold is a bit cheaper than genuine gold to my understanding, and pearls are definitely cheaper than Sapphires-- more something that a poor man like Jack's father could afford. I would have used silver for the metal, but in my head, Rose gold goes with pearls better.


End file.
